Descent On The Summit
by Kyasarina
Summary: The British Isles throughout their history. Pairings vary with the time frame, but mainly US/England, France/Scotland, Canada/Wales and Ireland/Australia. Discontinued/complete.
1. Descent On The Summit, 2009

**I don't own Axis Powers: Hetalia. **

**Pairings - America/England, France/Scotland, Canada/Wales, Ireland/Australia, slight Austria/Prussia and Spain/Romano, Germany/Italy and (if you squint) Greece/Japan**

The small bar was quite cramped. The bar seats were filled with drunken nations, most singing and laughing at nothing. Occasionally, one would start on their own national anthem and/or song, but they were soon shut up by the others.

Currently, England and Scotland were reminiscing about the 'good old days' when everything was grand. England had just started talking about his pirating days and how Elizabethan England had been the place to be. Scotland was currently ranting about Mary Queen of Scots and how the above-mentioned Elizabeth had cut off her head . So, a typical conversation between the two siblings then.

Ireland was trying to cheer up Northern Ireland. Ignoring the fact that the boy was physically underage, Northern Ireland tended to be a depressed drunk, whereas Ireland was merry. Ireland's attempts were being watched by an amused Japan, whose verbosity had been even more cut by his saké. Germany slept beside him, head resting on the bar counter, snoring away, while Prussia was laughing at him so hard that he inhaled some of his beer by accident. It was amazing that Germany could sleep with the racket going on beside him, but then again, with the amount of beer he had consumed…

The only other non-British country that was drunk was Russia. When Russia had heard about where the rest were going, he came with several bottles of vodka. Wales was even lower on the talking front than Japan. She just sat there, calmly downing a few drinks - nothing compared to the rest of her family (and Germany, Prussia and Russia and to a lesser extent, Japan).

England and Scotland looked dangerously close to another war with each other. The phrase "if looks could kill" came to mind.

"At least _my _personal name wasn't chosen by the Roman Empire, _Caledonia_."

Caledonia Kirkland, or Cally, as she preferred to be called, glared at her little brother.

"At least I wasn't _taken over _by the Roman Empire."

England responded, but nobody was listening, for it was at that moment when the door to the bar swung open - not that that people didn't listen when England and Scotland were talking (it was usually quite entertaining for onlookers, although they had to read the signs _very _carefully, and disappear when Scotland drew her claymore (sword) that she always had with her for some reason), but it was a special case.

The events that led to the entire British Isles, Germany, Prussia, Japan and Russia getting drunk at a small bar had actually begun that morning. England could probably have pinpointed the exact moment, if he was sober enough to see straight. The time was 9.50am…

* * *

England was enjoying a nice, peaceful cup of Earl Grey tea. He was contemplating the differences between this type of tea and a few others. He mentally noted to ask Japan his favourite flavour at the World Summit that afternoon. He was really one of the only countries that understood _good tea_.

It is sad truth, but a truth nonetheless, that all peaceful moments end… although not usually as abruptly as England's did that day.

"ARTHUR!"

The yelling of his name outside his study door… the Scottish accent was unmistakeable. It was _her_.

England looked around for a form of escape, or a hiding place. Sadly, there was none of the former, and none of the latter which Scotland did not already know about.

Then, another voice came drifting through the door… an unmistakeable Irish voice.

"Do you think he's here?"

"Aye, Paddy. Arthur's always here in the morning."

"Are you sure?"

"Aye. Like I just said - always here in in the morning. "

"Wouldn't he have opened the door if he was, Cally?"

"Nah. He doesn't trust me in there."

That was very true. The last time England had been foolish enough to let Scotland in his study, she had ripped the place apart trying to find something - what she was looking for was a mystery to England, even to this day.

"This is a waste of time."

"Come now, Seamus. You hardly ever get out anyway."

Oh bloody joy. Northern Ireland was here too.

"Ah…"

And was that Wales trying to get a word in and failing (again)? Why were the British Isles in their entirety (except himself) at his door? It was a question that needed to be answered - even at the expense of his beautiful pristine study…

England crossed the room and opened the wooden door.

*Everyone sat around England's desk. Wales tried to be polite by asking England how he was, but she was interrupted (as usual) by Scotland.

"You'll be wondering why we're here then."

"The thought did cross my mind," England said stiffly.

"I'll give you it straight. You've been going 'round callin' yourself the UK."

Ah. England saw it now. "I have to represent all of us."

"Have tae? We're all the UK - or… GB or… whitever you want to call us… except Ireland."

Northern Ireland glared at her. "UK," he muttered. "I'm here too…"

"I know, but… we're in there as the UK. There can't be four of us in the one seat."

"Then why you in the seat I wonder." It wasn't really a question.

England closed his eyes and massaged his temples.

"Let us come today." England's eyes snapped open. He stared at Scotland.

"Cally-"

"Just this once. I want to remind people it's no just England in this."

Ah. England knew why Scotland had brought it up now… "I take it that someone said that you were part of England again."

"Aye! Dae you know how much that _hurts _a country's pride? Especially when it happens _five times in the one day_. Oh, an' it happens tae Wales tae."

England sipped his tea. The peace of five minutes before had been shattered absolutely. Now the air was tense. England opened his mouth to speak, but - amazingly - Wales got in first.

"It's like Scotland says. Just this once…?"

Wales was talking? It meant that much to her? England looked down at his little sister. She was looking down at the patterns in the wooden desk, stroking her pet sheep, Llewelyn.

"Alright," he said looking away from Wales and forgetting about her instantly. Scotland, Ireland, Northern Ireland and Wales stared at England. "Par-pardon…?"

"If it means that much that you want to go… alright."

They all gaped at him for about five seconds - then Scotland broke into a grin. "Ach, you're a bastard, but you're a nice bastard when it comes down to it."

"I have to agree with Cally there."

"…"

"…"

"…"

It was nice for them to be happy with him for once.

* * *

"England's late. England's _never _late. Where is he?"

"Calm thoughts, _Amérique_, calm thoughts. He's not late, he's just always early."

"Then why isn't he early now? Something might have happened! He might have fallen out of a window, or fallen off a bridge, or…"

France's eyes glazed over as he listened to the young nation rant about what might have happened to _Angleterre_. _Mon dieu_. It was _obvious _that _Amérique_ had feelings not of the platonic kind for _Angleterre_. Couldn't they not just kiss and break the sexual tension already?

But it was strange for _Angleterre _to be the last country to arrive. Usually, he was the first. In fact, he had only ever been late for something once, because he was trying to make a dramatic entrance because…

Because… wait… no, no _Angleterre _wasn't that cruel. He couldn't have… he couldn't have brought… brought _them_… oh, wait… _he was exactly that cruel_.

"Merde!"France seemed to blur and disappear. He attempted to crash through an emergency exit - after all, in his mind it _was _an emergency, but for some reason the doors would not open, no matter how hard he pushed (in the darkened, hidden room in England's house, a spellbook lay open at a page entitled _Long Distance Barrier Spells_…)

It was impossible to open the door; there was only one other solution.

France leapt under the long table. America had stopped listing the things that could have happened to England, and looked down at the older country, concerned.

"France? What is-" America never got to finish his question, as it was at that moment that the double doors swung open - not unlike another door would in a few hours time at a small bar.

All countries looked up, except France, who was muttering prayers under his breath under the table. He was the only one who knew what was about to descend on the summit.

All countries looked up, except France, who was muttering prayers under his breath under the table. He was the only one who knew what was about to descend on the summit.

To the other countries, they observed England to the far left of the group - a smirk slightly playing on his features (the more observant countries noted that he had a rose earring), a brown haired, nondescript girl holding a sheep (who had a leek emblazoned on her jacket - which nobody noticed), two red-headed men, one looking happy, one looking depressed (both with shamrock earrings), and finally, a tall, red-headed woman-shaped tartan blur that tore through the room to the unsuspecting target, with a war cry resounding in their ears of:

"Caaaaaaanaaaaadaaaaaaaaaa!"

The woman (obviously Scotland) enveloped Canada in a bone-crushing hug (as she slowed down, it was observed that she had thistle earrings). She immediately enquired in order, how he was, how his people were, if America was still being a bastard and where on earth France was. Canada helpfully pointed to the empty chair. Understanding flitted across Scotland's face. She walked over to the empty chair and crouched down to look under the table.

"France."

"Ec- Scotland…"

France always called countries by their names in the French way, so nobody saw any significance in him calling Scotland 'Ecosse'. However, to break off in the middle of saying it and calling her by her name that she called herself… _that _turned a few countries' heads, and raised a few of their eyebrows as well.

"France, could you please tell me where America is?"


	2. A Drink At An Unspecified Bar, 2009

"France, could you please tell me where America is?"

The large, obviously fake smile and the polite tone put a most countries on their guard - especially the ones who had dealt with Scotland on the warpath. Unfortunately for America, he did not see these signs, and so foolishly, instead of hiding or escaping, pointed himself out to Scotland. Even more foolishly, he wondered aloud how she could not have recognised him, as he was, in his own words, "awesome".

Of course, when Scotland bitch-slapped him across the face, it only really came as a surprise to him.

Spain, who was closest to England, whispered in his ear. England laughed and shook his head.

"You know she was one of the only countries not taken over by the Roman Empire? Like hell I'm getting in her way when she's like this-"

"_Break my little brother's heart will you?"_

Then England suddenly realised what the consequences of Scotland's remark might make on him for the next thousand or so years…

"Hey! He did not break my heart!"

"Oh aye? Who was the one who saw you that time-"

"Cally!" A blush appeared on England's cheeks. It was obvious to the other countries that he knew what Scotland had been about to say, and _really _did not want her to finish her sentence.

Mercifully, Scotland decided against finishing the sentence - she knew that if she _did_, her brother would never again let her come to a world summit (much as it pissed her off to have to ask England to come, she still had to).

Germany cleared his throat, and asked everyone to sit down. Everyone did, and seats were brought in for the three unexpected guests.

* * *

"…and that brings us to the conclusion of our meeting… does anyone have anything they would like to say…?"

Nobody did. The meeting was finished.

Scotland sighed.

"Bored?" Scotland smiled at England. There was still some of that little kid she'd always played with left in him… he'd changed little by little over the years, ever since the Roman Empire had taken over his country. That's where he got his 'conqueror' streak from. He really wanted to 'one-up' the Roman Empire… it was quite sad, really, considering most of his colonies left…

"Do you want to go drinking? All the family?"

"Sounds good!"

"You're going drinking? Can… can I come?"

"Yeah, of course! The more, the merrier!"

"I'm coming too if West is. It wouldn't be the same for you without my awesomeness!"

"You're not supposed to come to meetings anymore, Gilbert…"

"So says the biggest gatecrasher here."

"Come if you must." The grin on Scotland's face showed that she didn't really mind - mad drunks always made trips to the pub more fun (although her definition of 'fun' wasn't really most other people's…)

"In that case… may I come, England-san, Scotland-san?"

"Yeah, sure!"

And while the eight countries went, Russia followed, clutching a case filled with several bottles of high alcohol-content vodka.

Those were the events that led to the current situation.

* * *

The door to the bar swung open. In came, (in order) Canada (who had, not coincidentally been drinking as well before he followed - knowing what he might find, he needed a bit of the Dutch courage to face his drunk guardians) America, the Italy Twins (Northern dragging Southern - Romano was muttering something about "I don't care about potato-eating bastards…") the Baltic countries, obviously there to take Russia, Australia, who was in town and had joined the procession of countries, France, China and Austria (although Austria wasn't really there by choice…)

"I take it they're drinking then."

"You don't say…"

"No, I mean _really_ drinking…"

The fact that all of these countries had turned up at the same time was no coincidence - they had decided to go and pick them up together, in case things had got a bit violent, like it usually did when one of the British Isles got drinking. They had got there just in time - Scotland was swinging her famous claymore at England, and England seemed to have a sword too… that was strange… nobody remembered England carrying a sword with him…

They managed (with some difficulty) to calm things down. The Baltic countries, shivering slightly, managed to heave Russia out of the door… he was very scary when he had a hangover… the Italy twins managed to convince Germany to come with them (although Romano was muttering things about 'potato bastards' the entire time, and China merely picked an unresisting Japan up, and turned to walk out of the door. Austria tried (and failed) several times to convince Prussia to leave. In the end, he whispered something in his ear - after that, Prussia willingly went…

They left America, Canada, France and Australia with them.

Cowards…

Nobody knows how they managed to persuade them to leave the bar. And very, very, _very _few people know what happened next…

To be taken home by an extreme pervert like France would be a bad idea for most - however, France had enough bruises and scars to know that he should _never _touch Scotland without her permission.

"An' ya know another thing? Ahm drunk!"

"You said that already."

"Yeah…"

Instinctively, France quickly gathered Scotland's red curls away from her face as she threw up all over the floor.

Nice.

* * *

The morning after was sunny and clear… the weather really is a poor indicator of the state of people's emotions.

When a naked Wales woke up in the embrace of another naked country, she wasn't actually really surprised - that would come later, she supposed. She gently pulled herself away and sat up to get a glimpse of the other's features.

It was Canada.

She didn't really suppose that it mattered that she did have a sort-of-thing for Canada - she supposed he was still just a random drunken encounter… she supposed…

* * *

England woke up in his own bed, not remembering anything for a few moments of bliss - then it crashed upon him like what he imagined the apocalypse would be like.

"My head… my bloody head…"

"Arthur? Are you alright?" A groan from the hung-over country answered America's question. He handed England a glass of water, and then he went to the door of the room… now, how did you make tea again…?

* * *

Scotland and Wales both left France and Canada at about the same time. England didn't really have a choice, being hung-over and feeling like he was going to die and all that…

* * *

Ireland was currently sitting having a civil conversation with Australia. He found that he could get on well with him.

"Um, Patrick-? It is alright if I call you Patrick, right?"

"Call me Paddy! All my friends do!"

* * *

Australia had been the last in the bar - faced with the prospect of a drunken Ireland and a drunken Northern Ireland.

_Damn 'em all… they planned this probably… damn 'em!_

Luckily, he had been saved from insanity and probable permanent spine damage by the arrival of a sleepy Greece and a happy-looking Spain.

"…Wasn't Japan here?"

"And Romano said that his brother was forcing him here… I was hoping…"

"They're both gone. China took Japan, Italy made Romano help him with Germany."

Spain chuckled under his breath. "I take it that the help wasn't exactly voluntary?"

"You got that right. Germany's 'nickname' came up most of the time."

"Potato bastard?"

"Mm-hm."

"Ah, Romano's so cute… especially when he's angry. He'll probably be at the hotel we're staying at then." There was a hotel especially for the personified nations to gather in every capital city. In them, there was everything that a personified nation could ever need - and a conference room, and swimming pool, and many other facilities that made the hotels five star. Every nation had their own room with things from their own country.

Of course, since the summit was being held in London, England stayed in his own home. It had given the four other Britons plenty of time to get down to his house.

Spain almost turned to leave, and then realised what he would be leaving Australia to do.

"You need help with them?"

"That would be great! Thanks mate!"

"I will help too."

"Thanks Greece!"

And therefore, Australia is perfectly healthy with no back strain or mental disorders. He owed a _lot_ to Spain and Greece.

* * *

Wales looked miserable as she trudged down the street. She needed her sheep.

"_It… it can be more than just that… you know…"_

_Silence._

A single tear trickled down her cheek.

_France quickly gathered Scotland's red curls away from her face as she threw up all over the floor._

"Damn… bastard… messing up my head… damn it…"

* * *

"You know, you're interesting. I'd like to know more about you."

"You can go out with me then."

"W-WHAT?"

"Ach, come off it Aussie. You like me, I know you do."

"I- I- that is- da- a-ah… o- okay then… I suppose… eh-heh…"

Northern Ireland grinned through the window. His brother had fancied Australia for ages. He was _finally _doing something about it.

"Seam- Northern Ireland!"

It took a few seconds for Northern Ireland to remember the small blond boy.

"…Peter…"

"…G-good to see you…" With that the boy who proclaimed himself as Sealand grinned. "I shall defeat you, Seamus Kirkland!" Then he ran off. How strange.


	3. Several Romances At Once, 2009

Days pass. Countries' hearts may in fact be completely smashed to bits, but the rest of the world goes on. That's just the was it is.

Currently, Scotland is moping in her room, Wales is moping in her room hugging her pet sheep, England is moping, although not to the extremes that his sisters have taken, Northern Ireland is sleeping peacefully, Ireland is dancing at a club with his new boyfriend, Greece is knocking on Japan's door, Italy's hair is being played with by Germany, Romano is yelling at Spain (Spain doesn't particularly care), Russia is terrorising the Baltic countries, China is combing his hair, France is drinking some wine, Canada is hugging Kumajiro and America is morosely eating a hamburger, while reading a book for yet unexplained reasons. The time was 9.50am. Exactly four days had passed since the fateful British meeting.

* * *

At 10.50am, Scotland decided that she was being an eejit, and that she should sort this out once and for all. She got dressed and went out, slamming the door behind her.

France did not really expect anyone to come to the hotel in the pouring rain, so he thought that the knocking would be a country that was not Scotland. Of course it _was_ her.

"You came in the rain?"

"I'm _Scotland_ you _eejit_. I'm _used _to it. Aren't you going to let me in?"

She was soaking wet, even for Scotland. He let her in.

"Aren't you going to catch a cold?" Scotland laughed heartily.

"I'm Scotland, _eejit_! I just don't cough or sneeze like the bastards who get the nice weather!"

"You're getting nicer weather nowadays…"

"Global warming. Every cloud has a silver lining, I guess…"

She sat on a conveniently placed chair. Down to business.

"Right. So. Basically… I've been thinking about you a lot."

Blunt as ever.

"So, basically-"

"Yes, I like you like that. I want to know if you like me like that."

Well, there was really only one answer to the question. France had known the answer for a long, long time.

"Of course I do, _ma chérie_."

Scotland's face broke into a wide grin, and she promptly kissed him before slapping his hands that were inching slowly downwards. Just like old times.

* * *

"To be… or not… right, that should do it!" This would do the trick, he was sure of it!

He knocked on the door. He had some time to calm himself before England opened the door.

"America."

Oh. He was using his country name… not a very good start. However! There was still time! This was just the beginning!

"Arthur! To be or not to be! That is the question!"

Quoting English literature did make England happy - _in context_... not in the middle of nothing for no reason at all...

"…Eh?"

Hm. He didn't seem too impressed. Well then! He had more!

…Oh wait… he forgot the rest…

"…"

"…"

"…You'd better come in then…"

* * *

The room hadn't changed a bit…

"Why'd you come here anyway, America?"

"Alfred."

"What?"

America flushed. He hadn't meant to say that out loud…

"Um… you can call me Alfred, you know…"

"…Alfred, why did you come here?"

"Because… because…"

* * *

While America was struggling for words, his identical twin was staring at a phone as though it was a snake. Should he? Shouldn't he?

"_It… it can be more than just that… you know…"_

_Silence._

Why couldn't he respond to her? All he had done was look at the floor as she left… why didn't he talk to her?

Damn it… and why was it so hard just to call her anyway?

Canada's heartbeat sped up - knowing he was about to put the phone down for the tenth time that morning if he didn't do something, he punched in the number for Wales' house that he had got from England ages ago.

The phone was ringing. The cheerful tone was grating on his shredded nerves…

* * *

Wales looked in surprise at the phone. She hadn't expected it to ring. She picked it up hesitantly.

"Hello?"

"…Wales…"

She almost threw the phone away. Canada! What was she supposed to say, damn it?"

"Hello, Canada."

* * *

"Willyoumarryme?"

England looked up at his former colony and sighed. He had no idea what America was saying.

"Speak clearly America."

"W-will you… will youmarryme?"

While the sentence was slightly jumbled, England knew his own language enough to understand the words.

"M-marry you? What?"

* * *

"You said that it could be more than that… if you still want…"

Wales trembled slightly. Was he… was he…?

"It could be more, if you still want me… if you do still want me…"

Both countries were bright red.

"That would be… that would be fine with me…"

"Why would you even-?"

America stood, eyes wide. Out of all the reactions he had imagined… he had never imagined… England looked downright _furious_...

"Why… damn, I thought you would never do something like that!"

"…Like what?"

"Marry someone because your boss told you to!"

"Wha? England my boss didn't ask me to-"

"Don't lie to me! Don't you _dare _lie to me! Why else would you propose to someone like _me_?"

"Because I…I love you… I mean I got permission and everything from my boss… but he didn't ask me to."

England seemed somewhat taken aback. "What… don't…" America realised that this might be the only chance he would get, so he took it in his own brash way.

Meaning he kissed England. When he pulled back he could see that England was blushing.

"I love you, England. Not because someone told me to. I just do. I can't imagine a world without ya."

England looked away, even redder than before. "So you can be romantic. I rather thought you failed at that stuff."

"I'm America! I can do anything!"

"…Way to ruin the mood."

"So… will you marry me…?"

England smiled at him - a smile few got to ever see, and then said "I'll think about it." before trying to kiss America's forehead, giving up, and kissing his cheek instead.

* * *

"And then he said that he did still like me!"

Scotland was practically jumping up and down on the bed. Wales was having difficulty with painting her toenails.

Scotland, for once, had put aside her resentment for England and had decided to invite the family to her house for a sleepover. Well, _invited_… more like ordered. And nobody wanted to upset Scotland when for once she was getting on with everyone.

"…Canada's going out with me."The statement came out of nowhere. There was silence for a moment. And then: "Gwynn! You should've told us!"

"Since when? When did he ask you out?"

"You've _finally_ got a boyfriend!"

"Don't be mean Seamus! That's great!"

Wales smiled shyly, and stroked Llewelyn. After about twenty minutes of interrogation, her siblings finally moved on to Ireland's love life, promptly forgetting about hers.

"…So how's Aussie, Paddy?"

It was impossible to miss the mischievous tone in Scotland's voice.

"Ach, he's fine… see last night-"

England cut in at this point, not sure that he wanted a blow by blow account of 'last night' - he knew his brother too well to naively assume that 'last night' was innocent.

"America…"

The family latched onto this new information.

"What is it? What is it?"

"…He proposed to me."

Another few seconds of silence passed. And then all hell broke loose.

"SERIOUSLY? That's awesome! Tell me _all _the details!"

"Can I be a bridesmaid? Can I, can I?"

"There's not a bride-"

"Wear a dress then!"

"No!"

"Aw… pleeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaase…?"

"I said no!"

"You're wearing a dress one way or the other, laddie. Do you want the easy or hard way?"

"You underestimate me!"

"Oh, I don't think I do, laddie."

"Are you insinuating that you have been beaten - multiple times - by a weakling, Cally?"

"Damn you and your damn reverse psychology… anyway, I _hope_ you kept him in suspense for a bit."

"To be honest, I thought he was joking, or his boss had forced him to propose to me… I kind of yelled at him for a bit… then he convinced me he wasn't joking, and his boss didn't ask him… that enough suspense?"

"Not nearly enough, but it can't be helped now."

Soon afterwards, they fell asleep on the pillows in quick succession until only Scotland and England were awake.

"…I didn't really expect him to… _propose _to me… I suppose my reply probably should have been more… I don't know… _eloquent_?"

"If he loves you, he wont care if you recite the whole of _Romeo and Juliet _tae him, or spit on him whatever you were drinking when he asked…" Scotland grinned.

"…Just as long as you say aye at the end of all of it. It was your own Shakespeare that said that 'Love is not love, which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove.'"

"Sonnet 116? I can't believe you'd actually memorise an English writer-"

"I know a true fact when I see it, and it makes me look smart when I chant it at people. Even if I prefer Rabbie Burns."

"I prefer Shakespeare to Burns - but let's just agree to disagree. For once, I can't be bothered fighting with you - I can't believe he proposed!"

"You're acting like a besotted schoolgirl, Arthur.""The sad thing is I know and I don't care… oh, Cally?"

"What?"

"I was just wondering… your personal name… why did you use Caledonia? You _hated _the Roman Empire, why would you keep the name he gave you?"

"…Pride. I was one of the only countries he tried to take and failed… I was proud of that… every time somebody says it, I remember it… even if people don't know me as well nowadays…"

* * *

The next day, the weather returned to the normal British conditions. The countries were leaving the hotel. England, Scotland. Ireland, Northern Ireland and Wales were saying goodbye to them. Of course, they were having a conversation among themselves as well. Most of it to do with the subject of _amour_, to use Francis' favourite phrase.

"Do you see Germany and Italy? They just kissed!"

"It was on the cheeks though, Cally."

"But did you see how Italy blushed, Arthur? It was so cute! Wait… why are they going back inside? I thought they had to get their taxi with-"

"Would you look at Spain and Romano!"

Ireland pointed the couple out. Romano appeared to be trying to struggle out of Spain's grasp, blushing all the while. Spain was laughing and just holding him all the tighter.

"Oh, and see Japan and Greece! What are they doing…?"

"They appear to be swapping cats…"

"That's a cute idea!"

"Hm."

"Anybody else on the 'romances not involving any part of Britain and surrounding countries' list?"

"I'll pretend I didn't hear the sarcasm in that statement, Seamus. I don't think so… Austria and Prussia, maybe? I get a _feeling_ from those two..."

"You should get together with Elizaveta sometime, Cally… be yaoi fangirls together. But isn't she dating Roderich?"

"How would I know? I think that's all over… I think, anyway."

At that point, they noticed a small yellow bird hopping about - and they heard distant yells in German, roughly translated as "I can't find Gilbird!"

"…I'd better go give Prussia back his pet…"

"Wait, don't you want to say goodbye to the other countries?"

"No, for some reason, I _don't _want to be part of the lovey-doveyness."

"Whatever… oh Gwynn? Anything else I need to know about sheep?"

The night before, Ireland had asked Wales to divulge information on sheep, because, in his owns words; "for some strange reason, Aussie's obsessed with the creatures."

Scotland had then told them that "if you're going to talk about sheep, you can ask _that_ person over there - he knows a _lot _about sheep prices."

England then stated that he had _not_ been consulted about the Clearances, no matter _what _she thought, to which Scotland had sniffed haughtily and said; "sure, sure you weren't Arthur."

"I don't think so…""You can't be more specific?"

"Let the girl alone, Paddy. She's already helped you enough, for whatever reason. I'll be going now."

"I thought you were already going?"

"Shut up, Paddy."

"Shut up yourself young man, you're not even 100 yet! That is no tone to take with your elders-"

"See you Seamus."

"See you later."

With that parting gesture, Northern Ireland left, and soon America, France, Australia and Canada came rushing over. Well, America and Australia were rushing. The two French-speaking countries came over at a more leisurely pace - France from calmness and Canada from slight terror and nerves.

"England!"

This cry came with a crushing hug from the over-excited America.

"Let… me go… can't _breathe_…"

"Caledonia-"

"I told you to call me _Ecosse_."

"But, why?"

On this point, as on quite a few points regarding Scotland, France was puzzled. "Well - because I like the way you say it, don't ask stupid questions!"

"_Ecosse_."

"That's better."

"Canada… I mean, Matthew…"

"Gwen…"

"...It's Gwynn..."

"Aussie! I found a really interesting fact about sheep the other day-"

The four sets of lovers reunited after about ten hours was a lovely picture.

* * *

It was just a shame that America couldn't keep his big mouth _shut _for once. For one reason or the other, he and England had got onto the subject of fairies.

"But, they don't _exist_!"

All fell silent. All heads turned to the unfortunate speaker - four from anger, three from pity for his foolishness.

"Listen to the boy! Soon, he'll be proclaiming that leprechauns are not real either!"

"Paddy, I think they would come under the fairy folk as well."

"I know, but surely the young fool believes in leprechauns, even if he is foolish enough not to believe in the other fey?"

"Leprechauns? I've heard of them somewhere… what are they, exactly.""_What_? He doesn't know of the leprechaun?"

"I can't _believe _you'd say such things, Alfie. Next you'll say the Loch Ness Monster is just a tale!"

"Well, it is, isn't it?"

Another wave of silence fell on the group. The atmosphere grew tense. Something seemed to change in England, Scotland, Ireland and even in timid Wales… it was quite terrifying for the others. America was surely doomed - but Canada decided that he would rather have a living twin than a dead one. He breathed in deeply, and exclaimed, "Who wants fish and chips?"

"Fish n' chips? Count me in!"

"There's a fish n' chip van near here… I saw it when we were driven to the meeting…"

Luckily for America, Canada knew about British tastes - he had once gone a whole week with nothing but this particular meal while he was on holiday in England.

"There's a takeaway nearer than that van."

Of course, England would know where every chippy in his capital was - no doubt he knew where every chippy in his _country _was…

Northern Ireland appeared before they could get going. He was blushing slightly.

"Seamus? What is it?"

"It… it looks like you were right about the last couple you mentioned, Cally…"

When Northern Ireland had found the transport that the Germany, Prussia, Austria and Hungary were taking to Heathrow airport, he had seen Prussia (who was acting more out of character than he had _ever _been in his long life) crying into Austria's shoulder, and Austria telling him that "they'll find Gilbird…"

Prussia had wanted to search for Gilbird too apparently, but since they couldn't find Italy or Germany already, he was forced to stay in the car - not without difficulty on the part of Austria.

When Northern Ireland had knocked on the door of the car, Prussia had glanced up - then a grin had broken out on his face, he smashed himself against the window (obviously the car was locked in several ways to stop him getting out). The door was unlocked a few minutes later, and master and pet were reunited once more.

The main cause of Northern Ireland's realisation that they were, in fact, a new couple to add to the 'romances not involving any part of Britain and surrounding countries' list, was that Austria had kissed the top of Prussia's head before he noticed N. Ireland - not something the aristocrat would do to just anybody - in fact, he barely touched people at all, even people close to him. Northern Ireland's only thought was how smug Scotland would be when she found out she'd been right about her _feeling_…

"Do I have to eat these, Ecosse…?"

"Don't be daft, of course you have to! How can you not like fish n' chips?"

"These aren't chips, they're fries!"

"Just because you call your _crisps_ 'chips' doesn't mean the rest of the world calls them the same thing, Alfred."

"…do I really have to eat this… I don't really like-"

"Oh give us some credit, we're not all that bad at cooking!"

The remainder of the time in the English capital was spent moderately well, with France only complaining about the food four times and weather twice (although the weather was actually quite nice for a change that night…)

* * *

**Originally there wasn't any Austria/Prussia, but after reading a few fics with it, I fell in love with the pairing. It needs more love. **

**I made Scotland and Wales female because there are hardly any female countries...**

**Please Read and Review**


	4. Scotland Meets Canada, 1746, 1782

**This is set just after Canada was taken over by the British.**

**Pairings - If you squint, France/Scotland.**

"Damn it, Arthur!" He'd have known who the voice belonged to, even if the accent didn't give it away.

"Cally? Why are you down South? Is there a meeting?" Completely ignoring the questions put to her, Scotland got straight to the point she wanted to make.

"How many colonies dae you _need_? I keep tripping over bairns!"

"…they're yours too, you know. It's the _British _Empire, you know."

She sniffed and moved on. "But you have so many!"

"I know, it's brilliant."

"Dae you even know who they all _are_?"

England was quite affronted by this. His sister just came barging into his study demanding to know whether he knew who his children _were_. It was quite insufferable.

"Of course I know them!"

"What's _that _one on your knee then? The one with the glaikit expression."

"I think America is more scared of you than _glaikit _as you put it, Caledonia."

"And the one outside the door that tripped me up?" The young lady in question was peering through the door.

"That's India, Cally, as _you well know_. Honestly-"

"And that one?"

"…Which one?"

"The one in the corner, obviously."

"…There's nobody in the corner."

"Yes there is! Wee, looks like the glaikit one? Ring any bells?"

"…Cally, _please_. Alfred is already questioning the existence of the fey folk, we don't need you insisting that there is things where there are not."

Scotland remained silent for a few seconds, and collected herself. There was no use in antagonising her brother… it would just make it less likely that he would…

She tentatively put forward the reason she came down to England's house in the first place.

"Arthur, I was wondering… well, it is the _British_ Empire as yeh pointed out… well…"

She swallowed slightly. England was very maternal, this could go _very _badly.

"Well, I was wondering… if I could… well… if I could look after a colony."

England blinked, once, twice and three times. He then laughed loudly.

"I can't believe it…! _You_, wanting to look after a colony… I didn't realise you _had _maternal instincts!"

"What dae you mean, _**me**_?"

"I apologise, but it just seems so… it just seems so _odd_!"

…Well at least he wasn't throwing a flakie about her request. That was good. But… why was it so funny to him?

England seemed to calm down.

"However… I do not think-"

She knew it. He would never give up any of them."You don't have tae finish the sentence, Arthur. I understand."

"Cally- Cally!"

She calmly walked out - or she would have if she had not tripped over India again. She rose - _very - calmly _- and walked out again.

She wondered what to do… what was there to do in London anyway? She didn't particularly like being in London - she had too many bad memories of the place.

She reached the door of England's house. It seemed to her that a country's house reflected themselves - and this was always very evident in their front doors. The door looked quite old and quite nicely furnished. It had clearly weathered some storms, but it still stood strong.

Suddenly, she heard small feet padding down the stairs, and the colony from the corner appeared in her sight. It stared up at her with big blue eyes. Colonies were so _cute_… and this one was particularly adorable. And then it started speaking French. There had to be something.

"Ah… hello! Who're you?"

The colony just stared up at her, and then answered in a high, accented voice:

"_Je ne parle pas d'anglais_."

She knew enough French for that.

"What dae you mean, you don't speak English? You _live _with _England_ himself! I thought his colonies spoke English tae!"

"…_Certains font. Je ne fais pas_."

Oh great. She'd never liked speaking French, after _that country that invented it_ back-stabbed her by making peace with England. While she was _still _at war with him. Still, the colony was nothing to do with that. She'd just have to speak it. Despite the fact that she never got the hang of the language…

"They dae speak it? Then why don't you…? Eh, I mean…"

She thought back to when Fr- _that country _had taught her his language.

"…eh… _Comment t'appelles-tu_?"

The colony seemed happier now that she was speaking French.

"_Je m'appelle Mathieu. Je suis le Canada. Et vous, madame_?"

_Think, think_. _It wasn't _that _long ago that he taught you the language_. _Just copy what the lad said._

"_Je m'appelle Caledonia - je m'appelle Cally et je suis l'Ecosse_."

_See, I do remember some of it! Quite a bit, actually! _

Hopefully, the lad would understand the rest… but wait a minute… He understood when she had asked him if his people spoke English or not! What was he playing at…?

"You understand English! Why won't you speak it?"

"_Parce que… parce que je manque mon père_."

…It didn't seem like an answer to her question, but she duly went on.

"…You miss your faither?"

"Oui."

"I think I can guess who that is… he's… _France_, isn't he?"

"…_Oui. Mon papa s'appelle Francis Bonnefoy_…"

Of all the colonies that would follow her, it would be Francis' old colony. Well, it was pretty obvious that the French-speaking colony used to be his but…

Why did he follow her anyway? She voiced the question to young Mathieu. He fidgeted slightly.

"_Parce que vous m'avez remarqué_."

Her vocabulary didn't stretch that far.

"Are you sure you can't speak English…?"

The colony looked towards the ground, and traced a semicircle with his foot.

"Look, I know what it's like for someone to try and force you to give up your old language, I'm not asking that. But it would help for all us who dae have English as a language in common…"

"…"

"_S'il vous plaît, Mathieu? Je suis très mauvais au français_…"

Canada looked questioningly at her, as if to say "but you're speaking it right now…"

"I only know the basics. I forced France to stop trying tae teach me it a _long _time ago."

"_Connaissez-vous mon père?_"

From his tone, he probably was asking if she knew his father.

"Och aye… but I haven't spoken tae him in a long time."

Canada looked around, and then, in a low voice said "_I will_."

"You will what?"

"I'll speak anglais- I mean English! …But only to you."

Well, it was a start. And Arthur couldn't exactly _complain_…

* * *

Five Months Later

"S-Scotland…"

Scotland shot out of her reverie by the fire. God, she was reminiscing too much these days, it couldn't be good for her… next thing you know she'd be showing her age! The Jacobite Rebellion had taken a lot out of her. According to the lad, that brought her news, they had added a new verse to "God Save The King"…now, how did it go again? The only line she could remember was "rebellious Scots to crush". She remembered that bit because it pissed her off so much… but she had to focus. Matthew was here. She looked up at the colony - he was growing up fast!

"Matthew! Well, that's strange, I was just thinking of you! How are-"

"England took away your language!" He looked outraged.

"…Aye. And my customs, and I'm not allowed to play bagpipes! I can't wear tartan, or kilts, and …"

It was too depressing. She couldn't go on."B-but!"

"The rebellion was doomed to fail I suppose. And now their cracking down on us. Bonnie Prince Charlie… what a laugh. I'm hungry… my people are hungry… I can't even imagine what's happening to Paddy right now…"She sniffed and flopped back down, not out of drama, but of exhaustion. Canada looked worriedly at the older country.

"C-Caledonia!"

"I've said it a million times, call me Cally."

"J-just so you know, there's loads of people in me who speak Gaelic, and do Scottish stuff-"

Scotland cracked open one eye, interested despite her depression.

"B-because there's lots of… lots of S-Scottish…"He trailed off, not wanting to remind her of the Highland evictions. However, she gave a dark laugh and brought it up anyway.

"…refugees? My people leaving here and being replaced by sheep?"

She looked into the fire morosely.

"Sheep are worth more than a few crofters, after all… and I can't even blame Arthur for it anymore. He keeps saying that nobody will listen when he tries to stop them. For once, I'm inclined tae believe him, he seemed so pissed at his landlords…"

The lost look in her eyes disappeared for a moment.

"Go away, Matthew. Please. I don't want people to see me like this."

"Cale- Cally…"

"Please Matthew. Don't you _dare_ pity me. I'm perfectly fine compared tae Paddy. Compared tae all those other countries out there…"

Her voice trailed off again, as if she was looking at something else.

"No one will tell me what shape Paddy's in. I know how bad the famine is, and the state of his land, but nobody'll let me see Paddy himself. The ships that are taking his people… they're calling them coffin ships… how many are dying? That's what I want tae know."

She looked up again.

"I can feel how bad it is for him. If my people are going tae you and your brother, then his are going to you, him and me. They're pouring intae Glasgow mostly, other places tae…"

She looked back up at the Canadian.

"…Canada… please, just…"

Canada nodded, hugged the older nation, and left. He nearly fell over a crouching figure on the doorstep.

"England!"

England looked depressed. He looked up at Canada. (all this _looking up _at Canada was very disconcerting. It felt like he was the elder country)

"Is she still…"

"Yes, she's acting strangely, she's depressed, eh? You took away her culture! It's to be expected, eh?"

"I know, Matthew."

Canada was shocked that England remembered his name, but he would be amazed later. Now, he was pissed at his guardian.

"What do you mean, _you know? _Why did you do it then, eh?"England looked sad. "I had to."

"What are you talking about, eh? You didn't have to! Nobody has to-"

"You're wrong… it's not that simple…"

"I'm all ears, eh."

"I… I had to! I just had to!"

"And? What do you mean you had to? Why?"

England did not answer.

"You're just watching in her window, eh?"

"I've only been here for two days. I have to go to Ireland… Paddy's condition is deteriorating rapidly, and… I fear he may…"

England's voice broke on the '_may'_.

"Is she depressed? 'Cause that's what it looks like to me."

"Yes. I believe she is."

England looked in the window.

"If I was in her position… I would probably be exactly the same."

"But it _is_ your fault you know, eh? If you hadn't passed the Act of Proscription-"

"You don't think I know that? But it's necessary, Matthew! The Jacobite Rebellions have to be stopped. The Act is the only way to do it."

"But, she's-"

"Do you think I enjoy this? Do you think I get some kind of sick pleasure from crushing the woman who's practically my sister for all intents and purposes? From seeing her like this? I don't want to do this to her. Me, Arthur Kirkland doesn't want beat my sister into submission, but I must. _England_, as British law must. That's what it means to be a country. And that is what Alfred just doesn't seem to get."

England stood up.

"Are you staying with her, Matthew?"

"As long as I can, but I can't for long. You know what happens if we stay away too long from ourselves." England gritted his teeth. A thought struck Canada - a desperate tactic, but one which might work all the same.

"Have you tried to ask France to see her?"

"Yes. He refused most uncivilly. And besides, I do not think she would wish to see him - the last time they met, she had to be stopped, by three countries and their respective bodyguards, from attacking him."

"Why would he refuse? He likes her! He wouldn't want to see her all depressed like this!"

"It's his damn pride."

* * *

England had given her back her rights in the end, forty years later. Ah, the torment she loved to put her wee brother through. Well, he deserved it that time… she couldn't exactly remember all that she'd said, but she'd said enough fast enough to make his head spin…

"Cally, please! I do not speak Gaelic!"

He travelled to his armchair, swaying slightly, as Scotland merrily skipped out the room, singing old folk tunes that she was finally allowed to sing out loud again. She was wearing full national dress, he noticed.

"Aahh…" She'd tried it out on the next person she had seen as well. It happened to be someone who knew a little Gaelic himself, as she had forced him to learn it as he had forced her to learn his language.

* * *

"_Halò, Francis! Ciamar a tha thu?"_

"Ah! _Ecosse_! _Angleterre_ is letting you speak your language again! _Bien! _I am well, _merci_. _Ciamar a tha thu fèin_?"

"_Glè mhath, tapadh leigh!_"

"I'm glad to hear you are well, _ma chère_!"

Canada, with some help from England had managed to convince/force France to come to Scotland to see Cally. She had at first - for a split second - seemed happy, and then she tried to kick him out of her house, but he resolutely stayed.

He had spent the next week by her side at all times, mainly annoying her. But it was still evident that him being there was good for her. Even if she would _never _admit it.

Scotland suddenly realised she was having a civil conversation with _him_. She immediately flushed, called him a bastard and ran off. He was still a back-stabber.

France laughed.

"I'll get you one day, _ma chérie_. I'll make you forget that time."And then, he yelled after her;

"_Tha i brèagha an-diugh, nach eil!"_

Five seconds later, he realised he had possibly just said the least romantic thing he had ever said in his entire life. But, it was the only other Gaelic he knew.

I mean, who yells that it's a nice day after their loved one as they run away?

Omake - Greece/Japan 

Japan sat, seething. This was very unusual for the country.

"…I have _quality, mon cher_, and as they say, quality over quantity, _non_?"

"I don't really care-"

"Ah, and I am more experienced in actual _l'amour_, _non_?"

"You don't have any proof of-"

"Even if you've been with more than _moi_, no doubt the ones with _moi_ enjoyed themselves more."

"That's-"

"And everybody knows-"

For once, Greece appeared to actually be listening to the conversation - and he looked quite hurt. Unbeknownst to most, he took his reputation _very _seriously.

That was the final straw. _Nobody _made Heracles unhappy. _Nobody_.

Japan stood up, quite epically, as there was a slight breeze tousling his hair, and coupled with the look of determination in his eyes, he made quite a sight, one you did not see every day with the normally reserved country.

"Nobody has any proof that you are better than Heracles-san. And if you have a witness to this, they may be lying. Heracles-san has quantity _and _quality."

With this, Japan sat down. His response to Francis-san's _insults_ to Heracles-san was not as striking as he had hoped he could have made it, and it should have been longer, but hopefully he had made his point. He just hoped that Francis-san would not find ammunition in his speech to use against Heracles-san. But… what if he did? Suddenly, Japan was worried. What if he had made it worse? Heracles-san might dislike him, and he did not wish for that to _ever _happen-

His inner monologue was cut off as he noticed two tanned arms around him, pulling him into a warm embrace. He noticed that Francis-san was no longer in the room.

"You're so cute when you're determined, Kiku. Thank you for coming to the rescue~."

Japan liked it when he addressed him with no honorific. It felt nicer, he felt closer to Heracles-san.

"Pl-please d-do not-"

"There's nobody around, Kiku. Just you and me…"

"H-heracles-san-"

"I thought we agreed on just Heracles?"

They had, it had just slipped his mind because… ah that felt nice…

"H-heracles…"

"Why don't we go somewhere _better suited _for…?"

"N-no, Heracles! There are still-"

"But you like this don't you? You did say that I had quality in this area~."

"H-Heracles!"

Translations

_French_

English

"_Je ne parle pas d'anglais."_

I don't speak English.

"…_Certains font. Je ne fais pas." _

Some do. I don't.

_Comment t'appelles-tu?_

What is your name?

"_Je m'appelle Mathieu. Je suis le Canada. Et vous, madame?_

I am called Matthew. I am Canada. And you, madam?

"_Je m'appelle Caledonia - je m'appelle Cally et je suis l'Ecosse."_

I am called Caledonia - I am called Cally and I am Scotland.

"_Parce que… parce que je manque mon père."_

Because… because I miss my father. (could be wrong)

"…_Oui. Mon père s'appelle Francis Bonnefoy…"_

…Yes. My father is called Francis Bonnefoy…

"_Parce que vous m'avez remarqué."_

Because you noticed me. (could be wrong)

"_S'il vous plaît, Mathieu? Je suis très mauvais au français…"_

Please, Matthew? I am very bad at French…

"_Connaissez_-_vous mon père?" _

Do you know my father?

_**Scottish**__ Gaelic_

English

"_Halò, Francis! Ciamar a tha thu?"_Hello Francis! How are you?

_Ciamar a tha thu fèin_?"

How are you, yourself?"

"_Glè mhath, tapadh leigh!_"

I'm fine, thank you!

"_Tha i brèagha an-diugh, nach eil!"_

Lovely weather today, isn't it?

_Scots_

English

_bairn_

child

_glaikit_

stupid, foolish, not very bright, thoughtless, vacant (any of these)

_throwing a flakie _

having a temper tantrum

**Historical Notes**

**The Jacobite Rebellions**

The Jacobite Risings were a series of uprisings, rebellions, and wars, mainly in Scotland, but also in Ireland and England occurring between 1688 and 1746. The uprisings were aimed at returning James VII of Scotland and II of England, and later his descendants of the House of Stuart, to the throne after he was deposed by Parliament.

The major Jacobite Risings were called the Jacobite Rebellions by the ruling governments. The "First Jacobite Rebellion" and "Second Jacobite Rebellion" were known respectively as "The Fifteen" and "The Forty-Five", after the years in which they occurred (1715 and 1745).

Although each Jacobite Rising had unique features, they were part of a larger series of military campaigns by Jacobites attempting to restore the Stuart kings to the thrones of Scotland and England (and after 1707, Great Britain). James VII of Scotland and II of England was deposed in 1688 and the thrones were claimed by his daughter Mary II jointly with her husband, the Dutch-born William of Orange.

It was **not** a war between England and Scotland, as is often thought. It was actually a bid to reclaim not just the defunct Scottish throne but that of Great Britain as well as the Irish throne with support from Europe. Though donning Highland garb for psychological effect, the Jacobite army was made up of both Highland and (about one-third) Lowland troops, not to mention French and Irish troops and small numbers of northern English (they are often overlooked).

Bonnie Prince Charlie/Charles Edward Stuart/The Young Pretender was the grandson of the deposed King James VII of Scotland/II of England. He led the '45 rising, which was ultimately ended at the Battle of Culloden. After this, Parliament passed the **Act of Proscription **which banned Gaelic, tartan, wearing kilts, playing bagpipes and more. There were heavy penalties for those who broke the law.


	5. Memoir I, War of Independence, 1290:1306

**September/October 1290 Orkney Islands, Scotland**

"DEAD? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN, SHE'S DEAD?"

"She died on the crossing."

"Oh God… she was our last hope…"

Norway awkwardly placed his hand on the shell-shocked Scot's shoulder. He wasn't really used to comforting people. Seven-year-old Margaret, the Maid of Norway and last heir to the Scottish throne had died of a fever on her sea journey to Scotland.

"Damn it… why did King Alexander have to die…?"

* * *

**6 November 1292 Berwick Castle, Scotland**

"What? Arthur, you can't be serious!"

"I am always serious in matters such as these, Caledonia."

"I- I… no, you can't… I won't become your vassal!"

"Too bad. The thirteen competitors for your crown accepted for you."

"What the hell were we thinking, we should never have asked your King to judge…"

"Well he has. He's chosen John Balliol."

* * *

**October 1295**

_Scotland was extremely _pissed. She was _not _someone to just be ordered around by her little brother. English bastards… every day King Edward seemed to attempt the humiliate her poor excuse for a monarch, and what was he doing in face of this outrage? _Nothing_, that's what he was doing. He _let _them make fun of his country, his subjects and himself. It made her sick…

And now they were calling her to war against the French! And what was he probably going to do about that? Hm? That's right nothi-

"No."

Scotland looked up in surprise. To her astonishment, the refusal had seemed to come from… the King…?

"Your Majesty…?"

"…We are going to ally ourselves with the French."

The council muttered happily among themselves, some smirking as if to say _finally he does something_.

**23 October - 30 ****March 1296 Paris, France**

"You wish to ally with us, _Ecosse_?""The English bastard snapped my last nerve years ago. My King finally is doing something about the way they treat us- treat us…"

"I am glad… _Ecosse_? What is- _Ecosse_?"

"They… they're invading… they're killing us…"

Her eyes were wide open with shock, then closed tight from pain.

John Balliol quickly came to his country's side, asking for details so he could help. As if he could help from this side of the Channel. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she felt the people of Berwick-upon-Tweed die. France clutched her shoulders, as if he could help her by such a simple action. A low gasp slipped out from behind her clenched teeth.

It always hurt.

**1296 Stracathro, Angus, Scotland**

"…defeated. We were crushed in Dunbar…"

Scotland knew everything, she had no need to listen to him.

Thirteen days. It was thirteen days after the defeat of the Scottish army at Dunbar when they caught King John Balliol - the 10th of July to be exact. Thirteen truly was an unlucky number for her these days. The competitors for the throne had numbered thirteen too, she remembered.

The English King grabbed the crown off Balliol's head, smirking all the while. He turned and casually flung it to his soldiers. He then turned to Scotland, almost as an afterthought. She looked squarely into his eyes, although she could hear laughter from his soldiers as they kicked about the crown. She desperately wanted to punch them, but she knew she could not.

"You. You are the personification of this country, are you not?"

"Yes. I am."

"You'll be pleased to know then, personification of Scotland, that I am now your absolute King."

Was there really a change there? He'd been using John Balliol as a puppet for all these years… however, the humiliation grew and grew every day.

First, there was the Ragman's Roll. A tattered, worn piece of paper to be signed by all Scottish chiefs, bishops and lords to say they accepted Edward as their King. And then the Stone of Scone was torn from its home in Scone Abbey and taken to Westminster Abbey. England was forced to hold back his sister as they dragged it away. He couldn't resist gloating, although he knew he probably shouldn't, as she had been beaten down enough.

"Nobody can crown themselves without that, isn't that right? It's part of the whole ceremony, am I correct, sister?"

"Yes, as you already know."

She attempted to free herself from his grasp and liberate the stone… attempted being the important word. The stone was the first thing she remembered clearly along with its owner… the closest thing she had to a "mother", if a human can be called such a thing to a country. The woman from which she had taken her name - the Egyptian princess Scota. Years of her memory - of _history _revolved around that stone.

The removal of the Stone of Destiny from Scone marked England's total domination of Scotland. Most of the time, Scotland sat in her room, depressed. It was boring just sitting there, but that was all she could do. She started talking immediately to the boy that came with news for her.

"How are you, Jimmy? What's the latest news from out there?"

"They're callin' King Edward the "hammer of the Scots" down there in England."

"I see… thanks lad." She gave him a coin, and he left. She sank down into her chair and sighed.

"Why did Alexander have to die…?"

**1297 Lanark, Scotland**

Scotland watched the young man. There was something about him… she just had to keep watching him.

She watched as he ran through a woman's house away from a group of English soldiers. Maybe she was his wife? She continued to watch as the woman barricaded the door. It did not hold long, but it held long enough for the man to escape… the soldiers broke it down and arrested her. The next day, she watched as English Sheriff of Lanark put her to death.

She then stayed in that town for a while. She had a feeling something was going to happen. And she was right.

The young man came back in the middle of the night to the sheriff's house with a band of friends. He killed the Sheriff and ran off. That was more than enough to make him an outlaw.

She had a feeling they would meet again.

* * *

"William Wallace? Does his name mean anything to you, Cally?"

"O'course I've heard of Wallace. There isn't a Scot who hasn't heard of the Guardian of Scotland, _eejit_."

England sighed deeply."Do you have any _information_ about him, Cally?"

She was succeeding in annoying Arthur. In her experience, that was always a good thing.

"Why? Is Longshanks _scared_?"

"Please do not refer to our King by that absurd nickname."

_Your King, not mine_. She didn't say it out loud though. England already knew that most Scots thought it anyway.

**11 September 1297 Stirling, Scotland**

Scotland gaped. Yes, it was fair to say that she gaped at the battlefield.

"Oh my God… how the hell did we _win_ that?"Wallace smiled. The Battle of Stirling Bridge. It would go down in history. Mounted cavalry being defeated by men on foot. It was amazing how pulling down one bridge could shatter the other side so dramatically.

**22nd July, 1298 Falkirk, Scotland**

But it could not last. At Falkirk, the Scottish army was defeated by the English. Another battle for the Scottish history books, but not in a good way this time.

"Wallace is good at organising an army but not good enough. Face it, Cally, it's over. Wallace is on the run. He resigned his post of _Guardian _apparently. His reputation is in tatters."

"Shut up, Arthur. Please. Just stop it."

**3 August 1305 Robroyston, Scotland **

_Sir John de Mentieth. His name lives on in infamy as the man who betrayed Wallace to the English. I remember I was there - countries always appear at the important events in their history. I remember screaming "Traitor!" at him as they dragged Wallace away. Arthur 'escorted' me down to London to witness his execution. _

**23 August 1305 London, England**

_I was at William Wallace's execution. I do not like to speak of it and I hate to remember it. No matter how hard I try to blank it out, I still remember the jeering crowds, I still remember them dragging him through the streets, people throwing things at him, hitting him. And of course I still remember the execution. He was hung, drawn and quartered. I won't go into detail. It hurts too much when I try to._

_I don't know what his last words were, but some words he said to me have stayed with me forever. It was at his _'trial' _if such a word can be used for that mockery. They said that he was to be executed for treason… and he roared "The King of England is not my King!"_

_After William Wallace died, the world seemed a darker place to me. Francis can understand that, what with what happened to Joan of Arc. You know, I liked Joan. I was at her execution too… I've never seen Francis so fragile, so broken. _

_I know exactly how he felt. Maybe that's why we're drawn to each other. We both know that kind of pain._

Scotland's pen stopped scratching and glanced out the window. She shook her head and held up the sheet of paper and she read it over. _Sir John de Menteith. His name lives on… we both know that kind of pain…_

She didn't exactly know why she had written it. She briefly thought about throwing it in the fire, but decided that she couldn't be bothered. She threw down the pen and sighed. Her head smacked down on the desk, and she continued reminiscing.

**10 February 1306 Greyfriars Church, Dumfries, Scotland**

Scotland didn't know why she felt she had to come here, but she had learned to trust her instincts. History called her.

She noticed a commotion inside the church as she approached it. She quickened her step as she heard raised voices, and then a scream.

She opened the door slightly and glanced in. She saw two young men, one bleeding on the floor and one looking down at him. She recognised the bleeding man as Sir John Comyn. She couldn't see the other's face until he turned and ran out of the church, running right past her without noticing her in the frenzied state he was in.

**25 March 1306 Scone Abbey near Perth, Scotland**

It had been a man named Robert Bruce. Scotland remembered that his grandfather had been one of the thirteen competitors for the Scottish throne… it all seemed so long ago, although it had only been fourteen years since. No time at all in a country's lifespan.

The Countess of Buchan placed a crown of gold on Bruce's head. Not the real crown jewels, but it would have to do.

Robert Bruce was now Robert I King of Scots. Scotland smiled. Arthur was going to be pisssssed…

But…

There was too many details about how his army had been decimated - over and over and over again until practically all that was left of the 4500 men that formed his army was Bruce. It seemed like that particular hope for freedom was over.

But then something happened to the then powerless King. That 'something' has woven itself into legend, practically into myth.

A spider. It was a spider. It was hard to separate myths and fact, even for one who heard the story from Bruce himself, but she had always tried.

**A cave, Scotland, or maybe Ireland****  
**

The King of Scotland was in a cave at the time. For three months. God knows what cave, and God knows how boring it must have been. Scotland had tried to find it in the seventeenth century, but she had quickly given up.

_Bruce was at the lowest point of his life. He thought about leaving me and never coming back._

_While waiting, he watched a spider building a web in the cave's entrance. The spider fell down again and again and again, but it never gave up crawling back Finally, it succeeded._

_He decided that he should be like the spider and _

_**"If at first you don't succeed, try try and try again"**__. _

_Of course, many people nowadays dismiss it as a fairytale. Even so, since that time, spiders are up there with lions and Nessie as my favourite animals._

_And what a comeback Bruce managed to make! One word - Bannockburn. We crushed those English bastards. Another good battle for history for me._

_He got freedom for me, for my people._

_At least, for a little while._

_

* * *

_

""I'll speak anglais- I mean English! …But only to you."

…Well, it was a start. And Arthur couldn't exactly _complain_…

"So, your name's Matthew then?"

"Ou- Yes."

"What's your second name?"

Canada looked up at her blankly.

"Your other name?"

"…I do not have another name."

…Well, at least he wasn't Mathieu Bonnefoy. Matthew Kirkland didn't have a ring to it either.

…Trust Francis not to give him a second name - and apparently Arthur had not given him one either.

Great guardians those two turned out to be.

_Guardians…_

An idea flashed into her head - she would name him… but Matthew Wallace did not sound right. So, she decided that the first name would do just as well as a surname.

"Well, I'm giving you a second name, lad. How does Matthew William… no, Matthew William**s** sound to you?"

The colony smiled and said "thank you". She grinned and ruffled its wavy blond hair. Matthew Williams. It suited the cute wee bairn, so it did.

Omake - Gaelic

"What the hell? That's wrong! You don't say it like that!"

"Yes you do! My way's right! Your way's wrong!"

"Like hell my way's wrong! Yours is!"

"Yours is wrong!"

"Mine is right!"

England groaned quietly in the corner, attempting to read, and failing because of the Scot and Irishman fighting not five feet away. Eventually, he threw down his book and yelled "SHUT UP! SHUT UP! I CAN'T HEAR MYSELF BLOODY THINK!"

They shut up.

"What are you arguing about?"

"He's saying it wrong."

"No, _she's _saying it wrong."

"No, I'm saying it right, Paddy, you're the one who's saying it wrong."

"No-"

"Shut up, both of you."

"Shut up yourse-"

"I'm trying to solve this problem here! God! Now. Tell me - without yelling - what exactly the problem is."

"Her Gaelic is wrong. It's all messed up."

"No it isn't, it's yours that is."

"_Right people_. Can't you agree on the proper way, _quietly _and _civilly_?"

Their expressions matched. _No we can't_.

"Oh for crying out- can't you have different dialects? Like one of you calls it _Gah-lic _and one calls it _Gay-lic_?"

"Actually… that's not a bad idea Artie!"

"For once, you have a brainwave!"

"…What do you mean, _for once_! I have brilliant ideas all the time!" But, he was ignored.

"I'll take _Gah-lic _then, and you take _Gay-lic_."

"Yeah! That's fine Cally!"

* * *

"…and that's how there's two different ways of saying Gaelic?"

"Yes. That is how it came about, although personally I do not see why they could not simply speak English as their language in common without arguing."

"Then why dae you speak English tae your lover boy, Arthur?"

"Ah, _touché Angleterre. _Why indeed? _Touché._"

"Shut up, frog! I don't need you answering for me!"


	6. The Godfather, 2009

**This chapter is set immediately after the first chapter. **

**Pairings (Implied or Otherwise) Spain x Romano, Germany x Italy, America x England, France x Scotland, Ireland x Australia and Canada x Wales. **

"Ah, Lovi~ you look so cute~ just like a little tomato~"

"Let go of me, bastaaaaaard!"

"Ah! What do you say we see the capital that _Inglaterra_ is so proud of? See the sights together?"

Romano froze. He turned to his former guardian.

"L-like a date?" Ever oblivious, Spain smiled stupidly.

"_Sí_, my little tomato!"

Romano flushed several different shades of red. It truly was amazing that Spain did not notice. Then again, it was Spain…

"…hm, where shall we go…? Where's _Inglaterra_, he could tell us where to go… then again, no doubt he'd find a joke in sending me to crap places… what to do, what to do…"

"…we could just walk around. I hear there's s_igns to places _in London, _idiota_."

"Good idea, Lovi! Let's go!"

"WAIT!"

"L-lovi…?"

"Lovi" stormed up to the entrance to the hotel. He had just seen a pair of people that he _never _liked seeing together.

"Fratello! What the hell are you doing? I thought you were supposed to be on the plane home already! And what the hell were you doing with the potato bastard?" Italy turned red. "Veneziano~ you look like a tomato~!" was Spain's comment. He started stuttering phrases that made no sense, accompanied with several nervous outbursts of "ve ve ve ve ve ve ve veeeeee!"

"Ah, Roma-"

"As for you, bastard! Your car's already gone! Hungary was searching all over for you… and Veneziano… and she couldn't find… both of you…"

Oh God, no. No, no, no. The pieces were coming together. The yaoi fan… searching for two males… and "not finding them"… for about two hours…

The feeling of absolute horror that he was experiencing must have shown on his face for he heard a somewhat distant and distorted "f-fratello…?"

"_Veneziano_."

Italy was obviously terrified at his brother's scary tone. Not that it took much to scare him, but the tone that Romano was using would scare the crap out of anyone.

"You will _never _allow yourself be alone with that bastard _ever again_, _do you hear me_?"

"F-fratell-"

"_Never again_. _Am I understood_?"

"Romano-" Germany's rescue was abruptly cut off as he met Romano's eyes. Germany quickly took a step back and averted his eyes from the fierce amber pair.

"Veneziano, you should go back home. Bastard, you should go back to yours. Your family will be worried over you."

The atmosphere was one of a parent finding out that their teenager had lost their virginity to their _hated _(obviously by the parent, not the teenager)boyfriend… well, just take out the "parent" and insert "protective brother", slide in 'not such a virgin' with 'vigin' and replace "teenager" with "idiotic brother" and that was really what had happened.

Thankfully for Germany, it was at that moment that the countries that had finished their fish n' chips came back to the hotel (who were, of course, America, England, Scotland, France, Ireland, Northern Ireland, Australia, Canada and Wales). Their chattering and laughter broke up the tension wonderfully before anybody got hurt.

"Lovi…? Are you coming?"

Antonio! He'd almost forgotten he was there!"Ah, yeah, sure."

Romano was still fuming. How _dare _he do that to his brother! _How dare he_! As soon as he got back home, the first thing he was going to do was call his… _associates_.

"Lovi? Do you want to go here?" Romano looked at the entrance to the cinema. He looked along the small boards that ran along the outside - and then he saw it. His eyes lit up with excitement.

"Spain! Spain! They're showing _The Godfather_! And they're showing the _Godfather II _and_ III _tomorrow and the next day! Canwegocanwegocanwego?" he said excitedly and OOC-ly.

"Of course, my little tomato!"

"Ah, that does look good… for one of your films…"

Romano's rare happy moment was shot down by England's voice. He looked around at the group of six that had followed them. He'd wanted to be alone with Spain, dammit! "Yeah, it's obviously good, it's mine! American movies are always good!"

"Oh really. I'm so sure."

"I like _The Godfather_. Francis, we're goin'."

"Ah… _oui_…"

They went in, leaving Ireland and Australia outside.

"…so what do you say, Aussie?"

"It looks good, yeah!"

"It doesn't really matter though, what the film's about, anyway."

"Eh? What do you mean?"

"Nothing~."

The lights dimmed as the adverts finished and the film started.

To grasp what happened during the film, the seating arrangements were important. Romano sat at the end of the row, Spain sat next to him, America sat next to Spain, England sat next to America, France sat next to England and Scotland was at the other end, sitting net to France… so

Scotland, France, England, America, Spain, Romano.

Ireland and Australia were at the back, nowhere near the rest~.

As the film went on, Spain kept taking looks at Romano, who was grinning somewhat… _manically_. He edged away from him, little by little so he wouldn't notice, but then, he made the mistake of looking at who else he was sitting next to. He quickly moved to his original position in _exactly_ the centre of his seat. After all, the gangsters were Italian-American. For the remainder of the film, he resembled a scared Baltic.

At the other side of the row, France was attempting to do what he normally did at films, which was namely to grope people. However, his date was making this difficult.

"_Francis! I'm trying to watch the damn film, pervert!"_

He was with someone who actually wanted to watch the film. It was a pity, but still, there was always…

France slyly glanced at England on his other side-

"_Don't even think about it_." He did not think about it. Scotland was _scaaaary _when she was mad.

"That was amazing! I'm going to stay for the others!"

"You already paid for the others didn't you, Lovino? I mean, we all did."

"Yeah! And so did… eh? Spain? Is something wrong?

""Th-there's a meeting back home tomorrow I can't miss!"

"W-what meeting…?"

"Aah, you know, a meeting of…meeting of… people… tomorrow…"

"What meeting?"

"You- you know, a meeting of… Spanish people…"

"…Oh."

"Arthur, I can't stay."

"W-what? Y-you can't stay? Ah, that's fine. Really. There's still flights-"

"Arthur."

America grabbed England's wrists firmly and pulled him towards him so that only a few inches separated their faces, oblivious to the surrounding countries. "Alfred…?"

"I have to tell the President about… you know. You'll come over soon, right?"

"Yes, of course I shall."

America kissed him then, in front of everyone. It was quite embarrassing but wonderful for England.

"Ahem. Ahem. _Ahem._"

Scotland gave up the indirect approach and whacked the back of America's head instead.

"OOWWW! What was that for?"

"Kindly stop molesting my wee brother in front of me."

"Molesting? I'm not molesting… _oh_."

The "_oh_" was accompanied by America realising the… ahem… _intimate _position he and England were in. He detangled himself - Scotland had already hit him twice that day, he didn't particularly want a third bruise.

* * *

Ireland and Australia had a… _good time _at the cinema. Nothing about it really had to be said… or rather, _should _not be said as it could mentally scar young children.

* * *

England blinked the sleepiness from his eyes. He yawned widely, then glanced down at his problem.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with these? They're expensive tickets. Vash'd kill me if I threw them away… what to do?" He placed them on the kitchen counter.

"I'll think about it later, I'm too tired… to think…"

With that, he wearily started climbing the stairs, one by one.

A lone figure holding a sheep watched him go, having long since given up trying to talk to get his attention. She tiptoed over to the slips of paper - and snatched them, slipping them into her coat. She then slipped out of the house, took out her mobile phone with one hand and quickly dialled a number. A sleepy voice greeted her.

"…Gwen…?"

"Matthew. I've got tickets for the _Godfather II _and _III_. You're free, aren't you? …Good. I'll meet you there."

She ended the call. And smiled in that quiet way she would have been renowned for if anybody had known she was there.

"Well, he said he didn't want them, didn't he Llewelyn? And my name is Gwynn… why does everyone call me Gwen, Llewelyn? Why? Is it that hard to remember my name? Is it?"

"…Who are you, again?"

"…I'm Wales… I'm your owner, remember?"

"…"

They say that opposites attract, but in this case the pair were identical.

* * *

"G'day Brett! How are you, bro?"

"Hey, Oz! How did the British weather suit you?"

"It wasn't that bad, actually, by their standard. Hey, I've gotta tell you-"

"Is this something to do with one Patrick Kirkland?"

The country was smirking in a somewhat smug manner. Australia was puzzled. How could he have found out? He voiced this question to the brunet languishing on the armchair.

"Wha? How did you figure that out?"

"Your lover boy. He phoned me this morning."

"Ah, that makes sense. She's spreading it around. You know, it's a pity you missed the meeting. _People _missed you being there."

Unknowingly, he had hit a sensitive spot in the yet unnamed nation. The nation turned away so that his face was not visible.

"Oh, really…"

"You know who I mean, Brett. Don't pretend you don't."

"…Shouldn't you be getting back to Australia? It's bad if you stay away, you know, _Australia_."

"Oh, c'mon. What's with the proper name?"

"Go home. Seriously. I don't need everyone on my back when they find your corpse on my kitchen floor."

"It's not been that long, Brett. And anyway, what's with the defensive tone? I'm only saying that he seemed upset that you weren't there-"

"How are the sheep in Britain?"

Animals were always a good way to distract Australia.

An excited Australia blabbered on and on about how brilliant the sheep were in Britain, and inwardly New Zealand heaved a sigh of relief. He'd managed to get his brother distracted from a topic he did not want to broach. He made up his mind that he would visit the other side of the world soon.

**Omake**

"Scotland… why are you burning that fish?"Scotland smiled genially at the guy that looked like Matthew.

"I'm not burning it, Alfie. I'm _frying it._"

"Why are you frying it?"

"Because everything tastes better fried!"

America's eyebrows furrowed. Then, he smiled that smile which every country nowadays knew, the "I'm a hero!" grin.

"Yes! I understand!"

"Good!"

Years later…

"Cally! Cally!"

"Alfie? Do you want some deep fried mars bar?"

"Listen, listen! _I fried Coke_!"

"Oh my God! Really?"

"Really!"

"I'm so proud of you!"England cried silently in the hallway.

"So you did this, Cally… how could you…?"


	7. The Road To Partition, 1847, 1921

**I was going to put this up later, but since it's St. Andrew's Day and the omake really needed to be put up today, you get it a few days early.**

All he could think of was the hunger. That jarring sensation in the pit of his stomach.

He was fed, but his people were not, and that was where the problem lay.

He had felt the blight when it had first came. At first, he had shrugged off the ominous feeling - surely the blight couldn't be that bad! Surely…

And then the full implications had hit. People starving, leaving to seek better fortunes in the rest of Britain, in America, in Canada. He wished them well. He hoped they would be well.

Of course he knew about the coffin ships. He could feel the death of every man, woman and child who did die, never reaching the hope of the American continent. He felt the deaths of those on the streets of his siblings. He felt the deaths inside him, all exactly the same - a pinprick for each in his skin. A hundred, a thousand, ten thousand, one hundred thousand… by the end he couldn't keep count anymore.

By the end, someone told him that a million of his people had died, an eighth of his population… the man kept throwing statistics at him. Of the 100,000 Irish that had sailed to North America, one out of five died, including over five thousand at Grosse Isle, and that was just in 1847. He knew that already, the man didn't need to tell him that. But he just kept going on and on…

And then some of the unlucky emigrants came back to him, after being kicked out of his siblings, dreams of a better life shattered by dark streets…

They came back to face the worst that had yet to come.

He heard that in Cally's Highlands, there was a famine too. The blight was all over Europe, apparently. But they were dealing with it, they had food.

Ireland had no such luck. The Luck of the Irish had seemed to run out.

He was at the London Parliament, politicians balancing his people's lives against profits. He heard one man speak as though his people had brought it on themselves. A hand gently laid itself on his shoulder before he could react violently. Arthur. He stared straight ahead.

"_Ireland is in your hands, in your power. If you do not save her, she cannot save herself. I solemnly call upon you to recollect that I predict with the sincerest conviction that a quarter of her population will perish unless you come to her relief_."

A man was speaking. Daniel O'Connell, his name was. In any other circumstances, he would have laughed about how he was referred to as female, but…

He shifted in his seat as the pinpricks just kept stabbing into him as the politicians just talked.

It was awkward standing here, next to Arthur after all that had passed between them. He tried to make conversation.

"This treaty. Will there be a little North Ireland now then?"

"…Maybe. It is probable."

He remained silent for a while.

"Your man, Michael Collins. Do you think he will be safe?"A shiver ran down Ireland's spine. Premonition? Maybe.

"W-why?"

"There are many who disagree with this treaty that will be willing to fight again for you. He signed the treaty, so they will most likely blame him for it. I am asking your opinion on the treaty, Paddy. Is that too much for you?"

"…You think they'll try and fight again when the Treaty is signed…"

"Undoubtedly. There are those who wish for not to be a partition. They are your own people Paddy, you know they will. I shall see you soon no doubt. Enjoy your freedom, Paddy. Use it wisely."

"I don't need my little brother telling me to be wise, Arthur. How are Cally and... Gwynn, by the way?"

"They're fine. They want to see you soon. Maybe they'll come over soon."

"That'd be grand… you'll come over sometimes too, Arthur."

"You just got rid of me and now you want me back over?"

"It's nothing personal lad, it just comes with leaving the United Kingdom."

"Goodbye, Ireland."

With that parting statement, England walked away. Ireland winced. The full name was never a good sign.

One Week Later

The streets were dark and misty. It was late at night, there were only a few people haunting the streets of the new capital. A figure could be seen running through the fog, checking every alley as he ran.

If someone had been listening hard enough, if they were close enough, they might have heard a few "damn it"s.

"…_huff_…_huff_…"

* * *

_"Brett, it's been a week. You would have found him by now if he was there."_

_"There are loads of mini countries with much less of a right to be one than him - or her - that exist, you know that."_

_"…Brett, you'll have tae go hame soon. You know what happens if you stay away from hame for tae long."_

_"Listen to me, I can't leave until I've found it. I just can't. Do you understand?"_

_There was silence at the other end - all that could be heard was the static, crackling breathing at either end. Then there was a deep sigh._

_"Aye. I get it. I was the same when I was looking for Arthur. Where have you looked, lad?"…He didn't want to answer. If he told them, they would just say it was hopeless, and-_

_"You've looked everywhere." England was dead right, as per usual. It got annoying._

_"…yeah…"_

_"Look, you're not going tae find him just by looking everywhere. If it's there, it'll show himself tae you."_

_…She couldn't have told him this a week ago?_

_"She's right. Since you're probably the only country there, it will have to present itself to you at some point."_

_At some point? That didn't sound too promising… nevertheless he thanked them and ended the call. _

* * *

So… what was he supposed to do know? Sit on the street and wait? Call out for him? He didn't even know what he looked like! All he had to go on was that he _probably _looked like Ireland and that he would be a toddler or younger. He decided that yelling was probably the best course of action if he was to get anywhere.

"Eh… Northern Ireland? Northern Ireland, are you here…? If you are, then can you come out…?"

He felt like an idiot. Of course the kid wouldn't come out just like that.

"Who are you?"

Gah! He almost had a heart attack from shock at the small voice that came from _right behind him_. It was as creepy as hell! He turned around, annoyed at the mysterious speaker, but then his words got caught in his throat.

The kid was only about a metre tall, and he could only have been about three or under, but he still looked intelligently at him. He had wide green eyes and dark red hair. He had a brown, non-descript coat on. He repeated his question.

"Who are you?"

"Are you… are you Northern Ireland?"

He received an impatient nod. Yeeeeessssss!

"Yes, who are you?"

"Ah! My name's Brett Wilson, kid." In a lower voice, he added - "I'm New Zealand."

"Nice to meet you, New Zealand."

Quickly and deftly, he picked up the little kid and went straight for the nearest hotel to call mainland Britain.

* * *

"Brett? Any news?"

"Yeah, I found him!"

There was a clatter through the phone.

"Whit? You found the laddie? Are you sure? What's he like? Does he look like Paddy?"

"Yeah, I found him, I asked him, so I am sure. And, yeah! He's - he's the spittin' image of him! I mean, like when he was younger, obviously, the kid only looks like he's three."

"Can you bring him to my house as soon as you can?"

"…Uh, yeah, sure will. See you then." He ended the call.

"New Zealand?"

"Call me Brett in public, kid."

"Ah, yes… what's going on?"

"Y-you don't know?"He supposed it was idiotic of him to assume that the kid knew everything. He filled him in on the details.

"…and you're still part of Britain, but Ireland - Paddy - isn't. You were born out of the partition, I guess. I mean, Ireland shrank - seriously it was hilarious! He literally shrank two inches in front of everyone! He went seriously ballistic I can tell you… kid? Are you alright?"

"He… so he doesn't like me then? He hates me then."

The kid looked seriously depressed. Half an hour after meeting him and already he was making the kid depressed. Damn.

"No, no… he's never even met you, how can he hate you?"

"It would be better if I didn't exist."

"Kid, don't say that. You being here is making people happy, you know that. Hey kid, don't cry. Don't cry, seriously."

"I wasn't going to cry. How am I making people happy by being here?"

"Well, Arthur for one - you know, England? He's happy you're here. I was on the phone to him just now, remember? He sounded really happy!"

"He's happy that there's still a part of Ireland in Great Britain. That doesn't count."

"Aw, c'mon! He already knew there was still the land you represent in the UK. He was happy that _you _were found."

"He's happy that the land isn't Ireland's anymore, so it's more difficult for him to try and take it back."

"You're such a pessimist… Cally then! Scotland! She was really happy too, and God knows she complains at every meeting she's at about being in the UK! She can't wait to meet'cha!"

"You don't know that for sure."

"Look kid… _I'm_ happy to meet'cha. It's not every day there's a new one of us, you know!"

"…"

"I'm glad I'm the one who found you. I like you, you know. And I don't lie… that much."

"Really? You like me?"

"Yeah! And my first impressions of people are never wrong!"

"There's always a first time for everything."

"You are such a pessimist!"

"…No I'm not."

* * *

"Ah… g'day… anybody here?"

The truth was, New Zealand had felt guilty for missing the meeting… especially when Australia had said how upset Seamus was… he thought that he must have been exaggerating, but even so, he didn't want to see him upset _at all_.

But nobody seemed to be at England's house… maybe he should try Ireland's house. He was more likely to be there after all-

"Who's th- B-Brett?" A familiar voice with a Belfast accent cut through his thoughts. New Zealand turned, grinning widely at the shocked boy who had just come through the door.

"Seamus! G'day mate! "

He had grown since the last time New Zealand had seen him. He was taller and his shoulders were broader. He was still shorter than England, but considering their different landmasses, that was to be expected.

All of a sudden, the spell was broken and Northern Ireland, leapt at New Zealand, effectively glomping him.

"Why are you over here?" The truth seemed to be the best option.

"To see you!"

"Really? Why did you miss the meeting, anyway?"

"I couldn't come… I'm really sorry I missed all of you crashing it. It must have been fun!"

"Not really. Everyone just talked about really boring stuff and none of it was to do with me. It would've been better if you were there."

He had the most adorable pout ever. It was so cute~.

**Omake - Happy St. Andrew's Day!**

Scotland walked with a bounce in her step.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY TAE ME! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TAE ME! Happy birthday tae me…" She stopped abruptly, noticing Prussia stroking Gilbird, waiting for her.

"Gilbert! Happy St. Andrew's Day!"

Prussia looked up.

"Yeah! Happy St. Andrew's Day to you too! And happy birthday."

"Thanks! Are the rest here yet?"

"Kolkolkol…"

The _kolkolkolling_ and the "_boing-ing_" alerted her to the other countries present.

"Ivan! Katyusha! Happy St. Andrew's day! I'm glad you could make it- Heracles! Good to see you here!" Russia, Ukraine and Greece all responded with "happy St. Andrew's day" in their own respective languages.

There was a clamour at the door. All nations turned to see the commotion.

"Chiiiiiiigiiiiiiiiiii! Don't touch me there!"

"How does it stick up, though? Do you use hair gel?"

"Yeah, how does it stick up?"

"STOP THAT! Aaaahhh…!"

"Philippines! Malta! Stop doin' that!"

"But Scotland, I want to see how it sticks up! I mean, it's so weird-"

To emphasise her point, Malta tugged the hair with strictly more force than necessary. The expletives the Romano used to describe how he felt at this were colourful to say the least. Philippines seemed to find this hilarious and chanted "pull it, pull it, pull it-"

Romano's screams of agony diverted all attention from the next two who walked through the door.

"He looks like he's in serious pain… maybe you should stop that, you two…"

"Oh, hey, Portugal! Happy St. Andrew's!"

"Happy birthday, Cally! Happy St. Andrew's Day."

"Hello. Happy birthday and happy St. Andrew's day..."

"Happy St Andrew's Day, Romania! Is that all of us then?"

"Hey, I'm only here 'cause of him being patron of Luqa."

"I know, Malta, and-"

"And me. He's patron of Amalfi."

"Yes, you too, Romano. And Portugal?"

"Yes, I am here for Esgueira. Would you kindly tell us why you gathered all of us here? It's never been like this…"

"Ah, well, you know it's **Homecoming Scotland **year, and so St. Andrew's Day's like _massive _this year?"

"I was aware of this, go on."

"Well, one day, I was at Paddy's house and… well I found something that kind of pissed me off."

Scotland received curious glances.

"I found a list of all the different places where St. Patrick's Day is celebrated. And I mean _celebrated_. They have massive parties-"

"Cally."

"Ah, aye… there was bloody millions of them! And I found out that America and Australia, Montserrat and Nigeria… they all go to his house for a party! All these years I never had parties for my birthday! But he did! So I decided that this year, like, since it's **Homecoming Scotland** for me, would be different! Help yourselves!"

They did so. They were later to comment that the food was "actually edible" and the drinks were "awesome!" (although that was mainly Prussia's input.

Later, when all the nations had gone away, and there was less of a mess to tidy up, Scotland got phoned by few people. England phoned to wish her a happy birthday, so did Ireland and Northern Ireland and Wales… so did Australia and New Zealand, and quite a few other nations. Canada's "_Bonne fête!_" was so cute!

The phone rang for one last time that night. She picked it up. She knew immediately who it was, as he was the only one left to phone.

"_Joyeux_ _anniversaire! _Happy Saint Andrew's Day, _ma chérie_!"

"Francis! Thanks! But… can you tone down the Saint Andrew's Day thing? It's been said to me all day and my ears are kind of ringing from it…"

"I trust I can still wish you _mes meilleurs voeux?_"

She laughed into the phone."'Course you can!"

"I'll come by later, _mon amour_. _A bientôt!_"

And he did. Carrying what appeared to be a million roses.

"_Pour tu, ma chère_."

"Francis! Did you carry those all the way here?" He looked at her as though she was foolish.

"…_Bien sûr_."

"There's like a million there! How could you carry all of those through Edinburgh-"

_" Évidemment parce que je t'aime, ma belle Ecosse._"

She grumbled under her breath about _eejits, _but happily kissed him anyway.

**Happy St. Andrew's Day! I could probably type that in my sleep the number of times I had to type it! All the countries that came to Cally's party have St. Andrew as their patron saint - I only found out about them today. I've probably missed some out though. : - ( After finding out about all these countries, I had to write something. **

_Canadian French_

English

_Bonne fête!_

Happy birthday!

_French_

English

_Joyeux_ _anniversaire_

Happy birthday

_Mes meilleurs voeux_

My best wishes

_A bientôt_

See you later

_Pour tu, ma chère_

For you, my dear

_Bien sûr_

Of course

_Évidemment parce que je t'aime, ma belle Ecosse_

Obviously because I love you, my beautiful Scotland.


	8. The Others In The Isles, 2009

"Cally. Cally." It was the annoying American. Scotland scowled darkly. He had overstepped the line an hour ago. How dare he try and talk to her.

"Cally! You've got to tell me! Who's _that person _talking to Arthur! I've never seen them before!"

He was never going to shut up if she didn't reply soon. She flung down her copy of the_ Herald_ - you wouldn't believe how hard it was to find copies of Scottish newspapers in Arthur's house - and glared up at him.

"That's because technically she shouldn't be here in the first place."

"What do you mean? Who is she?"

"Her name is Connie."

"Aw c'mon! Who is she? Tell me, tell me!"

"No."

"Please! Tell me!" An idea crept into Scotland's mind. A cruel idea, but fun, and after all that he'd said… She smiled up at the tall nation.

"Jealous, are we?"

"N-n- well yeah! Yeah, I am a bit! Look at her! Look, look!"

"Oh please, she's just making eyes at him. That's all she's ever done since the fifteenth century."

"So you do know her well then!"

"I know her well enough to know, that for some strange, inexplicable reason, she is completely and utterly in love with Arthur."

She gave a coy smile. America looked thunderstruck.

"A crush on _Arthur_? Arthur, of all people- what the hell? Arthur?"

"Hey, aren't you his bloody fiancé?"

She picked up her newspaper again, and attempted to find the page she had been on.

That's different, Cally, and you know it."

"Oh rea-"

"I knew it! She is trying to steal him from me!" Now for it!

"Yeah… it wasn't that long ago when I would have sworn that Arthur was besotted with her too… I mean I once saw them-"

"W-what? N-no, you're kidding me! No way am I going to let her steal Arthur away! No way in hell! I-"

* * *

Ah this was quite a good method of revenge - but she didn't want the lad to have a heart attack, so…

"Oh for God's sake, lad calm down! I was kidding you on! As far as I know Arthur's never realised about her feelings towards him."

"Ah, thank God… yeah, I'm his fiancé! No way some stranger's gonna change that! Yeah! I mean, I'm the hero! Who wouldn't want me!"

"You recover fast. And she's hardly a stranger to us. I've known her for centuries."

"Who is she? Tell me, please!"

"No way in hell."

"Are you upset that I said that bagpipes sounded like screaming cats? Or that kilts are just ugly man-skirts? Or that haggis - and all your cooking in general - is disgusting?"Scotland twitched.

"Or that fish n' chips are nowhere near as awesome as hamburgers? Or-"

She flung down the newspaper for a second time."YES I'M BLOODY UPSET BY THAT! YOU IGNORANT WEE-"

"I- I'm sorry, I'm sorry! But it's true-"

"OH LIKE HELL THAT'S TRUE! AND LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO! I'll never find the right page!"

"Help me get her away from Arthur! You never know what she might do!"

"Oh please. Connie? Jump Arthur? Hah, like that'd ever happen."

"Please! I take all the stuff I said back. _Please_! Bagpipes are awesome! Kilts are awesome! You- your food is… edible- and… fish n' chips are… are… _are_… I can't say it…"

"I know that fish n' chips are better than hamburgers-"

"_Don't say that_!"

"Say it. Say it nice and clearly, and I'll think about telling you."

"F-fish n' chips are- are -are b-better than… than hamburgers…"

With that, America choked slightly and clutched his throat, horrified at what he had said. Scotland on the other hand, now wore a wide smile.

"Well, I'd better tell you about Connie then, shouldn't I?"

"Yeah, you do that…"

"Her full name is Connie Kirkland. She's our sister-"

"Oh my God. Another Belarus! Did you see how terrified the commie bastard was when she came in the UN meeting with-"

"She's not like Natalia, Alfie. She's perfectly sane and she's… quite shy when it comes to her feelings for Arthur."

"…so anyway. Who is she?"

"Her country? She doesn't really have one… not anymore at least."

"So she's like Prussia?"

"Oh please. Everyone knows that the reason Gilbert's still here is because he became East Germany. And besides, it's more complicated than that. I won't bore you with the details, but she represents… Cornwall."

"Cornwall? Isn't that part of Arthur?"

"I told you it was complicated. You know all of us are in the United Kingdom. Or Great Britain. Whatever. Well, there are the English, the Scottish, the Irish, the Welsh - and the Cornish. Despite her not really being different anymore, her people _were_ still regarded as different, and _that's_ why she's still here. Any questions? No? Good."

"…I don't get it."

"Neither do we. We just go with it."

"OK! So how do we get her away from Arthur?"

"We?"

"Yes, we! You said you'd help me!"

"I said I'd tell you about Connie. From here on in, you're on your own, laddie."

"Fine then! I'll talk to him myself about her."

"Oh sure. Tell him that he can't talk to who he wants to. Don't come over as a chauvinist pig to ukes or anything."

If England could have heard her he would have spluttered in outrage at her describing him as a uke, having learned the term from his time with Japan. However, he could not.

"You're right… what do I do…?"

"Hm, I don't know. Trust him maybe? It's hardly likely he will cheat on you. As far as I know he's never loved anyone except you after that time in the fifteenth century. That's a long time lad."

"What happened in the fifteenth century?"

"Ask Arthur if you really want to know. Ah, here's the page." She skimmed the page, making clucking noises with her tongue.

"God, I didn't realise how good Gwynn's football team is. Or is it mine which is crap? Aye, mine's crap this year."

"You've got a football team? Awes-"

Without looking up from the sports section, Scotland held up one palm to quieten America."I am referring to _real _football, that which you call "soccer"."

* * *

America muttered under his breath for a few moments, but then cut off. Scotland, interested to see what could shut America up, followed his gaze. She sighed, exasperated.

"Oh for God's sake, Alfie. They're not going to _do _anything."

"You never know. A hero has to be on constant vigilance."

"What, did you learn that out of a superhero comic or something?" There was silence.

"Will you go away? I'm trying to think of a team my team can actually beat. How I miss the glory days… when my teams were up there in Europe…"

They were never "up there" in Europe, but she could have a fantasy. Her eyes took on a misty gaze as America, scowling, continued to watch the man and woman talking - did he just laugh at what she said? He never laughed at _his_ jokes. He seethed. Yes, he _seethed_ in the corner.

"Ahahaha! Good one, Connie!"America continued seething. But he knew he could do nothing but trust England on this, if he wasn't to look like a controlling bastard.

So he just watched.

"Ah, Alfred! Come over here! I'd like you to meet my other sister."

"Hm?"

"Her name's Connie! Connie, my fiancé, Alfred."

"Yes, we've met. How are you, America?" They'd met? America didn't recall ever meeting the girl. She had bobbed black hair and the same green eyes as the rest of her family. She didn't seem like she was going to kill him in his sleep or anything…

…in fact she seemed happy.

America turned slightly to sneak a peek at Scotland. She was silently laughing her head off. She mouthed something to him.

_Jealousy makes you an eejit. Remember that._

He would have to remember how defensive she got about her culture.

**Omake **

"So England's getting married to America."

"Why did nobody tell us this earlier? Are we not important enough, or something?"

Scotland attempted to bring some order to the tiny girls in front of her.

"Ingelinn, Hjørdis, I really didn't… think it would matter that much to you… really, I didn't, I swear."

"It _would_ have been nice to be told, and not forgotten. Hell, that brat Max found out before us!"

"He's nearer Arthur though. He kind of… _had to _know before you."Stony gazes followed Scotland's expressive, nervous hand gestures. The inch-high girl who had her long, pale blonde hair tied up in a ponytail folded her arms.

"It still would have been nice to be told _before_ the invitations went out. What, it's been two months since Alfred proposed to him, you said? We were told _nothing_. And how do we find out? Sealand's boyfriend, _Raivis Galante_. _Lat-vi-a_. What has _Latvia _got to do with it that is more important than _us_?"

"Hjørdis, I'm sorry, I really am… I… forgot to tell you."

"You forgot. You forgot for _two_ _bloody months_."

"To be fair, you were on holiday with Norway for the two months."

"You could have phoned."

"I don't know Norway's number."

"You could have asked someone if you actually wanted to tell us."

"Hjørdis, stop it." Shetland was one of the only two people who could get Orkney to shut up. Orkney spun around, her ponytail flying, and flew off. Shetland sighed.

"You should have told her earlier, you should have told us earlier. You know she gets upset if people keep things from her."

"I know, but everything kept coming up and with all the extra paperwork I have because of the bloody Credit Crunch…not tae mention all the preparations for the "Superpower Wedding" as I hear they're calling it. I bet Alfie's the one who came up with that… it's a crap excuse I know, but… that's what happened. And you weren't here, and you two went out my head…"

"Ah, yes…"

"And of course, you two are needed to be there as flower girls and all that-

""Flower girls? Us? I mean, I guess we could hold up his train or something - he's wearing a dress, yeah? But, we're not really that close to England-"

"Arthur wants it to be Britons, and there's not that many of us. His own words - "If I do not, he shall choose, and my wedding shall be a shambles." No, Alfie's going to do the reception… how that's any better, I don't know."

During this speech, Orkney had appeared again, taciturn face suddenly bright and cheerful.

"Bridesmaids? We're going to be bridesmaids? Ingelinn, come with me _now_. You need a dress."

"But we're not going to be seen…"

* * *

"COME BACK HERE! I AM A REAL COUNTRY! REALISE THAT, ISLE OF MAN!"

"Yeah, yeah, sure. And _how_ many countries accept that? One. _Yourself_. Me on the other hand… quite a few accept _me_, don't they, my dear Sealand?"

"Y-you bastard! I HAVE KNIGHTS!"

"Oh yeah, and I've got my own language, culture and a steadily increasing population. Booyah. Above 2000 last time I checked. And how many do you have, my dear Sealand? Five people. Five. Unchanging. Stagnant."

"I hate you, Max."

"Glad to hear it!"

"Y-YOU-!"

"OH FOR GOD'S SAKE YOU TWO! SHUT THE HELL UP! I CAN'T HEAR THE TELLY!"

"But Jerk England! Max started it!"

"I don't bloody care who started it. Shut up."

The blond, spiky haired youth grinned at Sealand. Sealand glared.

"Anyway, nobody speaks Manx apart from your lot anyway!" Sealand smirked. _That was a good argument_, he told himself. He can't possibly come back to that one.

"Shut up Peter! You just can't accept that I'm better than you!"

"Oh like hell you're better than me! I have one thing you don't!"

"Oh yeah? And what's that?"

"I have a boyfriend. And you don't have a boy or girlfriend."

The youth gritted his teeth and glared at the smug Sealand, ignoring the yells of England - ("Either ignore or act on the bloody UST! Just go away when you do!")

"I'll have you know that…"

"Oh we all know who you fancy, but you can't get her. Please. Your imaginary friend. So sad."

"Shut the hell up! You don't bloody know anything! I've not asked her- anyway, it's none of your bloody business!"

"Yes, we all know who you like."

The silky voice of Hjørdis Hansen-Kirkland - better known as Orkney - caused the Isle Of Man to freeze and avert his eyes from her. She had a fluttering into appearing in a room when you _really_ didn't want her there.

"And let me tell you, if you hurt her in _any_ way - any way at all - I will rearrange those pretty Manx features of yours. Are we clear?"

"C-crystal."

"Good. Dance with her at the "epic" wedding then. If you make _any _moves on her - even if they would work with the size difference there _you shall know what to expect_. Are we clear on that too?"

"_S-seadh_!"

"Good. Now go away."

He did so. Orkney sighed and turned to Sealand

"For some reason she likes him, although I must admit that I begin to question her sanity on the subject of him nowadays."

"H-how so…?"

"Oh, it's always "Isle Of Man" this, or "Manx" that, or "Max is cute, no? It is very irritating."

"It's quite sweet though-"

"Shut the hell up. Shetland's not _your_ little naïve sister. Besides, he probably fancies you more."

Sealand shut up.

* * *

_Manx Gaelic_

English

_Seadh_

Yes

Connie Kirkland - Cornwall

Hjørdis Hansen-Kirkland - Orkney

Ingelinn Hansen-Kirkland - Shetland

Max Kirkland - Isle of Man

In 1468, Orkney and Shetland were pledged by Christian I, in his capacity as king of Norway, as security against the payment of the dowry of his daughter Margaret, who was betrothed to James III of Scotland. The original deal also included that Christian I would receive 50k Rhenish guilders for Orkney and another 8k for Shetland. From that point on the islands have been under Scottish rule.

Scotland and Norway both see fairies, so yeah.


	9. Christmas At The Kirklands, 2009

Christmas Day 2009

"MERRY CHRISTMAS ARTHUR!"

England was glad that he had enough control over himself in the mornings not to scream as his brain took in the red head leaning over him, which _was_ quite scary. He was quite proud of himself for not flinching.

"Ah, Cally. Merry Christmas- why are you down here?"

"I thought I'd surprise you by coming - the family never gets together for Christmas anymore, so-""Oh."

He had noticed everybody crowding around the door to his bedroom.

Northern Ireland, Wales and Cornwall were both just inside the door, both grinning with the Christmas spirit. He could see Isle of Man, Sealand and the Orkney & Shetland fairies - the two went everywhere together, and he could never tell them apart - standing outside the door. And Ireland was skulking about behind them.

"W-well, come in then. I've got presents for all of you under that Christmas Tree, as I suspected this might happen-"

"REALLY? PRESENTS! YAY!"

The mini-islands - and Northern Ireland - all made for the Christmas Tree with surprising speed, pushing each other out of the way - even the normally taciturn Orkney - or was it Shetland? Gasps of joy and sounds of excitement could be heard. They also plundered the stockings that England had left up. And when all of the presents had been unwrapped-

"I've got some presents for you tae!"and then

"Ach, yes, I may have some too…"

Then, they all gave the presents they had bought for each other to each other, and to the older nations. The older nations all exchanged gifts too, laughing. In England's opinion, it was just like old times.

Then he actually got out of bed. Just like the weather of old draughty castles and old times too.

* * *

The snow was pristine and beautiful in the grounds of England's country mansion. The snow came on and off in flurries of white. First one, then more and more, until the air was filled with cold, swirling snowflakes. It was pretty to watch. The laughter of the younger nations was nice to listen to. They practically spent all day outside. It was only when the sky got dark when the older nations decided that enough was enough.

"Right, we're going inside now."

"But whyyyy?"

"Don't you see how dark it is, twat?"

"Ah, but the surprise isn't here ye-"

"SHUT UP PETER!" Sealand clamped his hand over his mouth and muttered an apology to his fellow young nations.

"What surprise?"

"Well there's not much point _since Peter blew it_ so- wait, they're here!"

"And right on time it seems, _madmoiselle Cornouailles_."

"Amazing how far an arrogant frog's voice can carry- wait, Francis? How-"

"Ah, you insult _moi _even when you do not realise _moi _is there, hm?"

"I'll bet that took years of practice to do, eh Iggy?"

Right at the far end of the street stood four people, all grinning broadly. England's eyes widened as he recognised one of the not so distant figures.

"Alfred? You came over the pond… for me?"

"Hell yeah, Iggy!"

"All of you…?"

"_Mon chèr Angleterre,_ how can one do otherwise when the _enfants _look up at you with innocent, pleading eyes… more of the Commonwealth were going to come too, but sadly only we are here. It is a pity, _n'est pas_?"

"All of you… planned this for us…?"

"_Oui_, _Cornouailles, __L'Irlande du Nord…_"

"Sealand and Isle Of Man… all of them."

Tears gathered in the corners of the elder nations' eyes. There was a risk of the scene turning emotional and weepy, until of course, Sealand hit Isle of Man with a snowball. There would have been chaos, so England decided to call it a day.

"W-well, do you want to go back to the house… since it's so dark-" A Irish-accented yell cut through England's second attempt at the suggestion.

"AUSSIE!"

"G'day, you lot!"

"You came too!"

"Ah, the latecomer makes it. I wondered where you were _mon ami_."

"S-sorry I'm late, there was extra paperwork… Brett wouldn't leave his goddamn paperwork, so he's still in down under… what an idiot."

"…As I was saying, do you want to go back to the house, it's freezing out here…"

"Yeah, that sounds good."

* * *

They all walked back. The grounds of England's house were quite extensive, so it was quite a walk. They swapped many stories about their bosses and complained jokingly about the recession.

Then, the programme that they all could not wait for, and yet dreaded came into the conversation. The atmosphere turned dark…

"No-o-o… David Tennant…" Scotland's eyes glistened as she watched the TV screen and the never-seen-before episode she'd nicked from the BBC headquarters. She sniffed into her handkerchief.

"I agree that Matt Smith has a _lot _to live up to." England was also watching the TV. His eyes were also vaguely misty. Sealand, Isle of Man, Orkney and Shetland all cowered behind the sofa as the Master laughed triumphantly onscreen. France, Australia, Canada and America all watched, seeing that it was a good programme, but not seeing why it was affecting their respective lovers so much.

They watched until the credits rolled. At this point, Scotland was openly weeping.

"David Tennant…"

"_Ma chérie_, he shall be in other shows, _non_?"

"You don't _understand_! It's _Doctor Who_… nothing can compare…"

"_Angleterre_, can't you-"France cut off as he saw the tears trickling down England's face.

"She's absolutely spot on… nothing is like Doctor Who… nothing in the world…"

"What about Torchwood?"

"Don't interrupt me!"

"Or The Sarah Jane Adventures? Or _Star Trek_? Or Star Wars or-"

"NO! DOCTOR WHO is… it just is. It's… it's just different…"

The argument about the brilliance of Doctor Who continued until Wales could not take it anymore. And Doctor Who _was_ brilliant. That, she knew for a fact. She quietly slipped away to get her DVD of "The Snowman". Putting that on at Christmas always stopped arguments, and besides, they all liked "The Snowman".

"_Gwynn_…"Wales nearly jumped out of her skin at the voice - and the sultry tone of the person who spoke - and spun around to face her lover.

"Ah, M-matthew… I just came up to get "The Snowman"… have you ever seen it?"

"No…eh, you'll put on later won't you?"

"Later? I'm going to put it on now-"

Canada pulled out a sprig of mistletoe and grinned wickedly.

"You know mistletoe has to be cut properly under certain circumstances for it to be-" Wales was cut off as Canada snaked his arms around her waist and pulled her in for a kiss.

"S'all good~ I checked..."

* * *

It was seven o'clock. The dinner had already been "ruined" once, so it had to be recooked completely.

It was so dark and cold, Scotland was surprised to nearly fall over a person sitting morosely on the steps of the house. She crouched down to see who it was. Northern Ireland. She immediately felt his cheek - he was freezing! She started chafing away at his bare arms - _bare arms_! In this weather! The boy was an eejit.

"Seamus, you eejit! You'll catch your death out here! It's so cold-"

"Stupid of me I know."

Scotland stopped fussing over him. He seemed so removed from reality… "Come inside, and tell me about it."

Northern Ireland allowed her to guide him inside to the kitchen. It was warm and cosy, and for once didn't stink of England's cooking, as France had commandeered the Christmas Dinner after exclaiming that "I simply cannot stand _Angleterre's _pitiful attempts at the culinary arts!"

"So why were you out there? And seriously, _bare arms_? You're a British Isle, I'd have thought you'd know better. Honestly, it's December and you're not a wee lad to make foolish mistakes anymore. Haven't you seen the weather forecast for the past fortnight?"

"Ah, I'm sorry, I didn't realise how cold it was…"

"Didn't realise? It's bloody snowing!"

Northern Ireland looked intently at the ground.

"I thought he might come." Understanding flitted past Scotland's eyes.

"He's not coming lad" she said, in a gentle voice.

"I know. But every other time they've said he's not coming, he has. Makes sense the one time I want it…"He trailed off, his expression sad acceptance. It nearly broke Scotland's heart to see it.

"Don't be like that lad! He'll come soon - maybe at Hogmanay?"Northern Ireland remained silent.

"O-or New Year's!"

"They're basically the same thing, Cally."

"They are not! How can you say such a thing! It's New Year's _Eve_! They're different!"

Scotland grinned as Northern Ireland laughed loudly.

"You coming back in, lad? It's your turn to set fire tae the Christmas pudding this year you know."

"I'll come in in five minutes, Cally. Promise."

"Sure~! By the way, have you seen Gwynn? Or Mattie for that matter?"

"You really don't know where they are?"

"Well, of course I know where they are, I'm just wondering if they'll be more pissed if I interrupt or if I let them miss the pudding."

"Save them both a slice."

"Good thinking. I'm coming back out if you're not back in in five minutes, have you got that, lad?"

"For sure I have."

"Good." With that, Cally disappeared out of the kitchen. Northern Ireland moved back the curtains blocking the window view of the idyllic back garden. He smiled. The snow didn't look like it was going to melt any time soon. He let the curtain fall back into place -

But then something red and slightly menacing caught his attention from outside.

Blinking, he pulled back the curtain again to reveal that a large red creature had landed on a particularly deep pile of snow. He hastily opened the door and went back outside, Cally's warning be damned. As he got closer to the creature, he recognised it.

"Dewi! What are you doing flying at this time of night? Someone might think you're Finland!" Wales' red dragon snorted and nuzzled him.

"Ah, stop! That tickles!"

* * *

"Oh my God…"

It was then that he noticed that _Y Ddraig Goch _wasn't the only one who had come into the garden. He could just make out a human figure, and his voice was so muffled that he couldn't tell what his accent was.

"Ah, hello…"

"Dragon! It's a real dragon! Oh my God!" Well, the speaker as male and spoke English. That much was obvious… but wait… that accent… was it…?

"Wait a minute… is that you, Brett?"

"Seamus! Is that you?"

"Well, yeah, but… how are you here? Zack said that you were still down under."

"Yeah, I was… I was just… I was just doing some paperwork, and then something _pulled _at my shirt, and then I was in the air over the ocean! It was _scary_!"

"…Dewi brought you halfway around the world…?" Northern Ireland looked up at the dragon. The dragon stiffly nodded. A grin broke out across the young man's face. With no further delay, he hugged New Zealand tightly. He had really come, even though it was impossible any other way than magic!

"You came! You really came! Just in time as well!"

"Ah, yeah, I suppose…"

From a window, it was easy to see the heart-warming reunion of the two nations. They were both so young to Wales' mind - but then again, she was quite old, wasn't she? "Eh? You're not old. Don't say that." Had she said that out loud?

"Yes I am, Matthew. I'm over two thousand years old. That's older than you at any rate."

"…I suppose, eh."

Omake

New Year's Eve/Hogmanay

"B-but _please_! We have to watch Times Square! I always do!"

"Well, you're at _my _house lad, and that means we're watching Edinburgh!"

The television blared as Scotland and America fought over the remote control. There was less there than there was at Christmas - Australia, New Zealand, Ireland and Northern Ireland weren't there, and Orkney and Shetland had gone to Norway to spend a week with him.

It was a joyous time of the year, and one which they had decided to spend together, as one happy family.

"NO WAY IN HELL, YANKEE!" Wearily, England downed another gin. Only a minute, Arthur. You can make it. Just block them out.

Why won't Matthew and Gwynn stop snogging...? The one time they're around... Surely they could wait until 12?

10

He ate a piece of shortbread. It was quite nice. It was one of the only things that Scotland made which he could eat.

9

He wouldn't mind if Alfred was snogging _him_, then he would happily ignore the lovefest. But alas, his lover didn't realise that _nothing _would make Cally change the channel. _Nothing_. And believe him, he'd tried on several occasions.

5

This whiskey was quite good, he had to admit.

4

Scotland was bouncing, she was that excited.

3

Wales and Canada broke apart to look at the screen.

2

The little nations eyes were wide and excited.

1

In Edinburgh, the famous Mons Meg cannon was fired into the firework-filled sky.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!" yelled Scotland, as she managed to pull herself and France over the sofa. Wales and Canada went back to their snogging.

"Happy New Year, Iggy!" And England got a kiss too.

**Since it's not actually Christmas yet, I haven't seen the new episode of Doctor Who, but the Master is in it, and as all Doctor Who fans **_**should **_**know, the Master **_**always **_**has evil triumphant laughter. Well, at least he should. **

**Scotland nicked the New Year's episode of Doctor Who. Naughty ;).  
**

**David Tennant's leaving. *sob* We'll miss you.**

**In Edinburgh every year they fire Mons Meg (a cannon in Edinburgh Castle) at 12am at New Year's. Then there's fireworks :D**

**Merry Christmas and have a Happy New Year.**

**Kyasarina~**


	10. Wedding Preperations 2010 and Flashbacks

"I'm offering you a _brilliant _package deal! With the recession, it's good to take stuff like this!" Scotland's eyes were wide and earnest. She stared, somewhat pleadingly, at the engaged nations. England scowled.

"I know why you're doing this. You're going to tell everyone about this, and then they'll say "oh, why don't we go there?" since we did, and then your tourism will boom."

"What's wrong with that? Two birds, one stone, wouldn't you say, Arthur?" England's scowl deepened. "I am _not _spending my honeymoon in you."

"But I'm brilliant! What's there not to like about me? Just watch the **VisitScotland** adverts-"

"I have seen those. I do not wish to see them again." With this statement, England turned pale and shrank down into his chair, muttering something inaudible. Scotland made an annoyed sound at the back of her throat. America felt nervous as the tension increased in the confined office.

"You're such an annoying… what happened to the cute wee boy I once knew?" America was startled at the wistful undertone to her voice. It reminded him of when Iggy talked about him as a colony. He looked at his fiancé who was now leaning one elbow on the table. He was staring straight at his older sister.

"He got invaded. Several times. And he figured out that the world isn't such a nice place. Especially when those you _trust_, _respect_, or _admire _hurt you."

Scotland slammed her fist onto the antique wood. England flinched - not at the violence, but at the fact that the violence was directed at the table. That was an antique!

"Well, you certainly got your own back, didn't you, _Sassenach_? You got it back a million times over!"

The tension had turned into a mixture of sadness, anger and that unmistakeable sense of melancholy and remembrance. England smiled sadly. "We never really got along, did we?"

* * *

"Big Brother France! Big Brother France!"

A small boy with a green cape came running at a high speed towards France. France turned away from those he was talking to and was hugged tightly by young England. He smiled at the sobbing child. "_Mon petit lapin_, what is the matter?"

"My big sister hit me!" This was accompanied by a wail. France frowned.

"_Ta sœur aînée_…? I don't believe we've met… _Comment s'appelle ta soeur_?"

England looked up. "Her name? She's Scotland."

"Ah, _L'Ecosse_! _Bien sûr_! How could I not realise?" England merely continued to stare at France. France patted the young country's head, not meaning to be condescending. "_Ne craignez pas, mon petit tracteur à chenilles_. _Ton frère aîné est ici_. _Je lui parlerai_." England looked blankly as France blabbered on in French, only understanding a few phrases.

"I will speak to her now if you want me to, _mon petit tracteur à chenilles_." England smiled at this, and said he would like that very much. But then he frowned.

"She's very scary, so be careful. Also do not underestimate anything she-"

"_Alors je vais_! I just keep going up until I am no longer in you, _petit Angleterre_? _Oui_!"

"She's already down here…" England pointed northwards. France followed his finger. There was a distant figure. "_Merci, mon chèr_."

"Do you want something?" From first impressions, she seemed to be quite intimidating. From the fierce look in her unusually green eyes to the wild red hair, she was every inch the warrior queen. Quite different to all the _- belle _to be sure, but there were many - ladies he had had experience with back in his home.

"Ah… ah…" And now, he was lost for words at the sight of her! She was like a character out of a fairytale! The travelling warrior princess in disguise, maybe. But definitely a warrior. There was something in the way she stood that just-

"I said, do you want something?"

Words simply could not come to France's lips. With difficulty, he managed to pull a single word out. "_Non_…"

With that he ran away, leaving a confused woman standing at the top of a hill. She just stared after him. "What the hell? Who was that?"

* * *

France lay on his front, his mind utter chaos. The woman who was currently massaging his back giggled and pulled him into a kiss, whispering things that drifted right past France. He was thinking of _petit Angleterre's belle sœur aînée_. Cally, he had said her name was. He remembered somebody telling him that her full name… now, was it Caledo… Caledonia? Yes, Caledonia. Caledonia.

"Caledonia…"

"_Excusez-moi, Francis_?" The woman… Christelle was her name. He thought. She stormed out of the house, her clothes rumpled. In later times, France would think back and be appalled at treating a lady as such, but his mind was filled with the face of another. He was fascinated with _l'Ecosse._

_

* * *

_

"Stop following me!" Scotland ran across her mountains without breathing heavily and she could swim her deepest, coldest lochs without taking a single breath.

However, she could not escape Francis Bonnefoy, no matter how hard she tried. "Leave me alone!"

"_Mais_, _ma chère_, what is there wrong with me? Do you not like my hair? Non, that cannot be! It is _beaux cheveux_, _non? Petit Angleterre_ even tried to grow his hair like mine, can you believe it? It failed drastically, _bien sûr_, _mais _it was _très_, _très mignon!_"

"Stop changing languages every three seconds! You're giving me a headache!" Scotland clutched her head. France hung his head, overdramatically.

"_Je suis desolé_… but, you know, _ma chère_, that what we should do now would be-" Scotland ran.

* * *

After several more attempts to chat up the nation, France had decided to take a decidedly less moral route to her bed.

He had watched her carefully, these past few years. So much so, that his own countrymen hadn't seen him for years on end. Quite a despicable thing to do if you were a country, but he was on a mission.

His plan started innocently enough, with an invitation to go out for a drink. Before Scotland could brusquely refuse, he mentioned that several others would be there. She seemed suspicious, but at the mention of whiskey, she perked up and accepted. So far, so good.

He was now quite drunk, and Scotland… well… she was drunk enough by this time. Now to move in for the kill. He slicked back his hair with one hand and leant over to the now extremely drunk nation. "You're beautiful tonight."

"Ach, away yie go," she laughed, downing yet another gulp of the whiskey. "_Non_, _non_, I am perfectly serious." He grinned, and asked her something that _should_ have earned him a slap.

* * *

Scotland stretched and yawned. She clutched her head in pain. Damn hangover. Hm? She had no clothes on. Strange. She got out of her bed dazedly and staggered about. She smiled as she turned to make her bed.

She froze, eyes wide, staring at the bed. A naked France smiled lazily at her. Everything seemed to freeze until France cheerfully greeted her. "_Bonjour! _I hope you are feeling well-"

"GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE DAMN YOU! YOU FROG! GET OUT NOW!"

France laughed. "Enjoy the night?" Scotland hissed several swearwords at him, mainly involving his mother and the size of his vital regions. "Ah, but you seemed to like it, _non_? At least you liked sucking-"

"Get out of my land!" She didn't want to say 'me' considering what had happened. She pulled out her sword. France recoiled from it.

"Ah, there is no need to-" He blinked, and looked around the open countryside and firmly shut door. He then looked down. There was a pause.

"L-l'Ecosse! Let me in! I need my clothes! _S'il vous plaît_, _s'il vous plaît_!" He banged his fists against the door. "_S'il vous plaît_! They're the latest- eh?" There was a… slightly mad-sounding voice singing something from inside the house. France placed his ear on the wood to listen better.

"_Burn, burn, burn_! _Burn, burn, burn_! _Burn_… _heh heh heh_…"

France's face turned pale. "_NON_! Those are the latest fashions from Paris! They cost a fortune! You can't! You can't! Let me in! Stop it! _NOOOOOOOOONNNN_!" He crumpled to the floor, a quivering wreck, muttering "_non_, _non_, _non_, _non_, _nooonnn_… "

A hand laid itself on his shoulder. France whipped around. "_Angleterre_…?" England looked at him, pityingly. "I told you to be careful all those years ago."

"It's only been three years," France chuckled, "that's not so long for us, _mon petit Angleterre_!"

England scowled at him. "_Fourteen_ actually," he growled. "Seven years of your nobles banging on my door saying that I kidnapped you! I've not had a moment's bloody peace!"

"Fourteen? Fourteen? Are you sure," asked France, "I was sure it was only three…"

"How the hell could you misplace eleven years?" snapped England. "Even for us, that's still a _bloody long time_!"

France looked at him. "Ah, you have grown taller, _mon_… not so _petit _anymore _Angleterre_." The teenager's scowl faded slightly. "You have grown fast! What have you been up to?" England looked at Scotland's house for a split-second, but looked back at France before he noticed.

"Nothing much. You've not changed at all. Now, get your bloody arse back over the Channel, before I kick you there!"

France sighed. "I suppose I must, if it has truly been as long as you say. Well, _au revoir_!" England crossed his arms.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" France raised an eyebrow, and then he remembered.

"_Mes vêtements_! What will I do! _Angleterre_, please talk some sense into your sister!"

"Like bloody hell. I won't talk to _her_. She's been intolerable these past centuries. I thought Hungary had taught her some manners, but alas, that seems not to be the case." Something flashed through England's eyes that made a shiver pass through France's spine.

"_Angleterre_…?"

England looked steadily at France. "Go back across the Channel. This has _nothing _to do with you anymore." France merely continued to stare.

"_Anglete_-"

"_Nothing_. Are we clear?"

France wanted to ask what was happening, but that look in England's eyes… What had happened to him? "_Mais, mes vêtements_…"

"Oh for God's sake, Francis! Can't frogs do anything by themselves? Use bloody flowers for all I care! Just-"

"_Angleterre_… if you weren't here for me," France interrupted, "what were you up here for?" England's gaze turned for longer to look at Scotland's house. She was listening. He knew it.

"I'm not here for anything," he replied, "merely to see a soon to be defeated opponent." There was a crash from inside the house and a faint snarling could be heard. England grinned. He directed his stare at France. "Soon you'll see what I'm talking about."

France walked away as soon as he could. There was something wrong with England, he just knew it. There was no way that such a sweet little boy could have such cold, merciless eyes… there was just no way.

Scotland threw open the door. "That goes for you too, you wee _Sassenach! _Get out of my land!" England smiled serenely, and gave her a chilling reply.

"Yours, my dear sister?" He duly wandered a few steps that he knew were southward. His smile turned vicious in an instant.

"Not for much longer, I think you'll find." Scotland hurled abuse at him as he walked slowly after France's hurried pace.

"You fancy yourself as a wee Roman Empire, don't you! Don't you, _Sassenach_!"

"Of course not," he said, "I will succeed where Rome failed." He smiled sweetly back at her. His eyes glinted as he whispered one last parting line. "And I will be everywhere."

* * *

America looked at the two nations. They seemed to be brooding over something. He cleared his throat. "Ah, guys? Hey, guys, aren't we supposed to, you know, be planning the wedding? Guys?"

"Oh, aye," Scotland said. "Anyway, it's a pity you don't want tae come up here. I was going to let you stay in Balmoral, after all." She smirked behind her hand. "Oh well, I'll just have to cancel-"

"Wait, wait, wait! Wait a minute Cally!" exclaimed England, "Balmoral Castle?"

"I'll just have tae cancel then," said Scotland, picking up the phone on her desk. "After all-"

"Balmoral? You'd let me - us - stay in Balmoral! But," he said, depressing reasoning creeping into his voice, "that's the Scottish home of the royal family! I couldn't-"

"If you stay on schedule the royal family doesn't have to know." England looked offended at this, so she changed her phrasing slightly, like a politician. "They won't really care. You're one of their nations, after all."

England smiled. "That's fine then. You it is." Scotland beamed.

"That's great, _Sassenach_!" England flinched.

"Why must you always call me that? Stop it."

Scotland grinned. "_Sassenach, Sassenach, Sassenach, Sassenach, Sassenach Sassen-_"

"Stop it!"

"_-ach, Sassenach, Sassenach-_"

America decided to step in. "Ah, Cally can you-"

"Stay out of this Alfred! I have been dealing with _her _for thousands of years, before you even crawled!" America was quite upset by this.

"Fine then." He walked out of the room. Scotland looked expectantly at England.

"Alfred, wait!" He ran out after his soon-to-be husband.

_Very _soon-too-be husband. Scotland glanced at the calendar on her wall. Five days. Five! _Hell_, the time had gone fast. She sighed and slammed her forehead on the desk.

Oh well. At least everything was _nearly_ sorted. Now the only detail she had to worry about was… the table planning at the reception.

Oh God.

Omake

"Bloody snow, bloody snow, stupid bloody snow!" England struggled through the white, freezing nuisance.

At first, it had been nice. He remembered looking outside and seeing white everywhere. It had been a magical feeling, all those weeks ago.

Now he cursed the horrible stuff as he slipped for the fifth time that morning. He had only gone outside to defrost his car. It now resembled a small white hill.

He kicked the snow off his boots. Another thing he didn't like was the state of his shoes. His _new_ shoes. His new ruined shoes. Damn the snow.

There was yelling from the living room. Cautiously, England crept to the door and peeked in. Scotland was standing in the middle of the room. "Cally?"

"I can't move!" she wailed. "I can't move!"

"You can't move?" He had a sinking feeling about this. "Aye! I'm at a standstill. People can't get around! There's ice everywhere!" They were cold all the time as well. He could finally empathise with Russia.

"Cally, I'm coming… over?" He tried to move his legs and he couldn't. A feeling of terror washed over him. "I can't move either." His voice was calm, but inwardly the panic was taking over. "Where's Wales? Can't she help us?" Scotland asked."I'm right here… and stuck too." Wales was not heard.

"Eh? Arthur? Cally? What are you standing around for?" a voice asked. They all turned. "Seamus! Help us! We're stuck!"

Northern Ireland sat on the sofa, laughing. "You're stuck?"

"Yes!"

"Oh my God," he laughed, "this is priceless!"

"Shut up! Your snow was just as bad as ours! Don't think that just because your snow is gone you can laugh at us!" Scotland tried to grab him, but since they were too far apart, she failed as he sprinted out the door.

"Hey, Iggy!" That American twang had never sounded more beautiful. "Alfred! I need grit! Or salt!"

America just looked at him, then at Scotland. "…Grit? Salt?"

"We've run oot of the stuff. And even the good salt is nowhere tae be found!" She struggled. "We even used the table salt! Please, we just need a bit more!"

"Please Alfred," England pleaded. "Grit me!"

America grinned at pulled England's chin up. "Glad to, babe."

England glared. "That was not an innuendo. I'm all icy."

America pouted. "You can't go all frosty on me, babe. I'll warm you up in no time~" America grinned and bit England's ear gently. "Florida's always warm~" England moaned in pleasure as America licked his neck and started moving downwards.

"…Excuse me! Still here! Still here!"

"So am I…" But nobody heard Wales.

"A-Alfred…" There were moans and gasps. "Arthur…" America murmured sensually.

"Still here… please stop… please!"

_French_

English

_Mon petit lapin _

My little rabbit

_Ta sœur aînée_…?

Your big sister…?

_Comment s'appelle ta soeur_?

What is your sister called?

_Ah, L'Ecosse_! _Bien sûr_!

Ah, Scotland! Of course!

_Ne craignez pas, mon petit tracteur à chenilles_. _Ton frère aîné est ici_. _Je lui parlerai_.

Do not fear, my little caterpillar. Your big brother is here. I will speak to her.

_Alors je vais_!

Then I am going!

_Petit Angleterre _

Little England

_Merci, mon chèr_.

Thank you, my dear.

_Petit Angleterre's belle sœur aînée _

Little England's beautiful older sister.

_Beaux cheveux _

_beautiful hair_

_Très_, _très mignon! _

_Very, very cute!_

_S'il vous plaît_, _s'il vous plaît!_Please, please!

_Mes vêtements!_

My clothes!

_Scots_

English

_Sassenach _

Southerner. A nasty name for the English/(Lowland Scots, but that tends to be forgotten).


	11. The Belfast Blitz, 1941

"Damn that English bastard," snarled Ireland, "Damn him to hell, and his Parliament too!" He sat at his desk, scribbling over England's face with a black felt-tip pen. "Damn him! I want independence, and I want it now!"

"Did you say you wanted independence? From Iggy?" Ireland groaned. Damn it. He was in a bad mood for negotiations. America leant in - far too close for Ireland's liking - and grinned a million-volt grin.

"I understand, Paddy! I understand all too well what you are suffering. The rule of an oppressive government! Cruel tyranny! England always saying he knows best when he doesn't!"

America drew himself to his full height. "I will help you in this epic battle! The American people," he yelled, "Are with you all the way!" He sidled close to Ireland. "De Valera asked for help, and of course I responded! Anybody trying to break away from the British are my best friend! Furthermore!" he cried, "I am willing to-"Ireland growled. America looked at Ireland. "Paddy?"

"Stop treating this like a game! My people are suffering under the English bastard's rule, yes, they are. But I don't need anybody to get in the way! I _will_ get my independence, and I _don't _need your help!" snarled Ireland.

America seemed to deflate. "But-"

"Don't just try to be best mates with me all of a sudden. My _people_ may have forgiven and forgotten how your lot treated my people who came to you after the famine, but _I've_ never, and I never will."

America clasped his hand. "I know, it was wrong that we treated your people that way, especially since they'd come for a better life. But, Paddy, I _swear _to you that I want to help you, because… you mean a lot to me." Ireland knew then why he wanted to help. "Ah, America-"

"Call me Alfred!" interrupted America.

"A-Alfred. I like… someone else." Ireland looked away. He was on alright terms with the lad, he didn't want to hurt his feelings _in that way_.

America looked away. "Oh…" But then he grinned at Ireland at flashed him a thumbs-up. "Not to worry! You won't be able to resist me for long!"

Ireland waved his hands in the air for emphasis. "No, I _really_ like-"

"Well, who is it then? Tell me, tell me!" America, wide-eyed, looked into Ireland's, as if he could see the answer there.

"To be sure I will not," said Ireland, with a sense of finality on the subject in his voice.

"Gimme a clue! Gimme a clue!" Ireland sighed. He would never give up. He closed his eyes. "It's a guy. He's blond. He's… he's brilliant." He smiled as he imagined his face. "There. That's three. Happy?"

"Is it me?" Ireland looked at him, and could really think of no way to be sympathetic.

"No."

"It does describes me though… I'm blond, and a guy, and I'm awesome!" America flashed him another thumbs-up.

"There are more brilliant blond guys than you in the world. It doesn't matter anyway."

"Eh? Why?"

Ireland stared straight ahead. "I'm not dragging him into this. I don't care if Arthur hates me after this, but they get on. I'm not ruining that for him… are you listening to me?"

America had a map out. An _actual_ map with other countries other than him on it. "Hm… still gets on with Iggy… that narrows it down a lot! Thanks!" Ireland scowled. Damn it.

* * *

Ireland was shaking slightly. After all these years… could it finally be happening? Could he be independent in mere _hours_? After all the blood that had been shed on both sides, after all the sheer _waste_ of lives… England was walking towards him. He forced himself to stay calm.

"The part which American friendship played in helping us to win the freedom we enjoy in this part of Ireland has been gratefully recognized and acknowledged by our people." De Valera was shaking America's hand. Ireland made a mental note to try and keep England and America away from each other that day.

"Arthur." England gave a smile that was probably forced. "Patrick." They talked for a while. They even managed to have a decent conversation with pleasantries. But then, England seemed to notice something and said he had to go. Ireland watched him while America talked excitedly in his ear about meaningless things.

Ireland looked over, bored, at what England was doing. He was talking to two people. His eyes widened. Was that…?

The pen lifted from the paper, and then a strange sensation of separation from both outside and within came over Ireland. And then, everything seemed taller, for some reason.

Everybody stared at him, some with their mouths hanging wide open in amazement. Ireland was afraid to ask, but…"I didn't just shrink, did I?"

England nodded. "About two inches, I would say." And he turned to New Zealand and started talking to him again, calm as you please.

He was perfectly justified in freaking out. A blond man rushed over to him. "Paddy? Paddy are you alright? What happened?"

Ireland breathed in and out for a few seconds. He looked up - the man was now slightly taller than him - and smiled weakly. "I think a little kid is wandering about the North-East that wasn't there a few seconds ago…"

England turned quickly to New Zealand. "We discussed what I want you to do. I cannot leave here just now, so find the child quickly for it's sake. God knows what might happen if it is on it's own."

"Sure dad," New Zealand seemed confident enough. "I'll find the kid, no problem!"

"Phone my house _as soon as _you find it. Either myself or Caledonia will be there," he looked straight at New Zealand. "And, Brett. You have not been on your own soil for about two months. If you cannot find Northern Ireland when one week has passed, I am sending you home. Are we clear?"

"Yeah!" New Zealand charged away, but then looked back over his shoulder. "I'll find the kid. I will, I promise." He gave a grin, then left. England sincerely wished that he would succeed.

He said goodbye to Ireland and caught the first ferry back to the mainland. He had a phone to stay at.

* * *

15th April 1941

1.30am

"Seamus! What's happening? I saw the German planes fly over me… Seamus are you there?" Ireland had to feel his way into the house, as all the light were out.

Ireland frowned as he felt that the wall was wet. He moved along a bit more to find the light switch, as he was sure it was around here somewhere. All the wall seemed to be wet, it was strange.

Ireland found the light switch. He sighed. _Finally_. He flicked it.

_It hurts._

Ireland stared in horror at the bloodstains on the wall. With effort, he managed to take his eyes off the wall. "Seamus? Where are you?" He ran into the nearest room. There was blood in there as well. Ireland stopped. He could hear something. Laboured breathing and sobbing that seemed to be coming from the next room. He threw open the door. He stopped, staring. "Seamus…"

"IT HURTS! IT HURTS GOD DAMN IT HELP ME! STOP THE BURNING, PLEASE, JUST STOP IT! MAKE IT STOP, MAKE IT STOP, MAKE IT STOP! Make… it stop, please, just take the burning away, please…"

He was in Ireland's arms as he trailed off. He shuddered and screamed as he felt the bombs cut into him. Ireland stroked his hair and murmured meaningless phrases, all the while panicking. What the hell was he supposed to do?

Quickly, he picked up the boy and ran up the stairs. He ran into several rooms before he found the bathroom. He filled the bath with cool water. He quickly stripped the boy and placed him in the bath. The water immediately turned pink, and became deeper and deeper. His screams turned into whimpers and gasps of pain.

Ireland ran down the stairs and hoped to God that Seamus had Arthur's number written down near his telephone. Thankfully, he did. England picked up on the third ring. "Seamus? What is it?"

"Arthur, it's me, it's Paddy." Ireland could almost see the expression on England's face. "Paddy? What the hell are you doing in Seamus' house over there? I thought you were so keen to be neutral-" England's voice crackled over the connection.

Ireland interrupted him. "Seamus is being attacked. I saw the German planes, and they're bombing Belfast City. There's- there's blood everywhere, and I don't know what to do!"

England's voice turned deadly serious. "What have you done?"

"He said he was burning, so I ran him a cool bath. He seems to better for it - well, he's not screaming anymore. But the water's all bloody now. What do I do? You're the one who knows how to deal with stuff like this!" There was silence for a few moments.

"Take him out of the blood, and put him to bed. Sponge him with cool water and _stay with him_. He'll be terrified, especially since physically he is only seven years old. Call your people and get fire-fighters to stop the fires. That's all you can do."

Ireland blinked. "What about his wounds? What about all the blood? It won't just stop!

""I said, all you can do is that! Try to treat his wounds and there'll be no effect, or at least very little. The destruction of his land has to stop before he can-" There was absolute silence.

"Arthur? Arthur!" The telephone had been cut. Ireland threw the phone down, swearing, and ran back up the stairs, mind racing all the while. No contact meant that he couldn't contact his people over the border to help. He just had to wait. He ran back into the bathroom.

He took Northern Ireland out, dressed him and put him to bed, just as England had said. He shuddered and cried hoarsely. "You'll survive this, lad," Ireland said gruffly, his words sounding weak to his ears. Northern Ireland whimpered and whispered that he was burning. "I'll put the fires out."

"Don't leave!" Northern Ireland grabbed at Ireland's sleeve. "Please, don't leave me here!" England's words came back to Ireland - "_stay with him_."

"I won't leave. I promise." He knelt down by his bedside and stroked the boy's hair soothingly. Northern Ireland tensed. Ireland stopped. "I'm sorry…" But the boy wouldn't answer. "Seamus…""I- I- c- c- c-" The boy was struggling for breath, and then suddenly his throat constricted and his hands flew to it. He tried to say something and his eyes opened wide, panicked.

"You can't breathe?" He nodded, tears trickling out of his eyes. He was so still. "Please, breathe! Come on, you can… please!" After about a minute, he inhaled deeply. He trembled violently.

"I- I couldn't- I couldn't- gas works- they- gas works exploded- no air- no air anywhere-couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe…" he sobbed into Ireland's chest. Ireland gently separated strands of dark red hair from the boy's damp forehead.

"_Oh Mary, this London's a wonderful sight… with people all working by day and by night… they don't sow potatoes, nor barley or wheat_…" Ireland sang quietly and soothingly, rubbing the boy's back. "_But there's gangs of them digging for gold in the street…_"

The boy shuddered and gritted his teeth together in an attempt to stop a scream. "_At least, when I asked them, that's what I was told… so I just took a hand at this digging for gold… but for all that I found there, I might as well be…_"

Northern Ireland clutched the back of Ireland's shirt. "_Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea…_"

* * *

"Seamus? Patrick? You in here? Seamus, are you alright? Tell me you're alright!" Australia banged the door five times. "Are you in here?"

England's voice seemed to float into his head then. "_Use the key, idiot_." He did so. His first instinct was to throw open all the doors on the first floor, but then he heard a muted voice coming from upstairs. He could barely make out the words. "_…you remember young Peter O'Loughlin, o'course… he's over here now, at the head of the force… I met him today, as I walked down the Strand… he stopped all the traffic with a wave of his hand…_"

Australia recognised the voice, how couldn't he? He took the stairs two at a time. "_As we stood there and talked of the days that are gone… the whole population of London looked on…_" Australia hesitated as he got closer to the door that the lilting voice drifted through. "_But for all these great powers, he's wishful like me…_"

Australia opened the door as quietly as he could and peered through. "_To be back where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea…_"

Ireland was kneeling next to the bed, stroking away strands of hair from Northern Ireland's forehead as the boy breathed raggedly in and out. "_There's beautiful girls here, oh never you mind… with beautiful shapes Nature never designed… and lovely complexions, all roses and cream… but let me remark, with regard to the same…_"

Ireland seemed to stir a little. "_That if one of those roses you venture to sip…_" He turned to face the door. "_The colours might all come away on your lip…_"

He seemed startled to see Australia, but that didn't affect the rhythm of his song. "_So I'll wait for the wild rose that's waiting for me…_" He smiled in greeting at Australia, so he wouldn't disturb Northern Ireland, then turned back to the boy in the bed.

"_In the place where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea…_"

* * *

"Help from the South? From what they told me, every fireman they asked came over your border to help. There's about seventy, and they're still here." Australia said, in response to Ireland's question. "There's loads of people from Belfast fleeing the city. At least 20,000. There's quite a lot that have crossed your border."

"And the death toll?"

"Nobody knows. There's too many…"

Ireland frowned. "Why are you over here anyway?"

"There's a meeting between your, my and Seamus' heads of government. My prime minister's coming over, and I was already in the mainland, so I came over."

"Can you stay with Seamus? Please? I have to go and see my president about this. And," asked Ireland, not knowing if he wanted to know the answer, "Seamus said something about the gas works making him not breathe. Do you… do you know what he was talking about?"

"Yeah… the gas works were bombed. It caused a vacuum… and there was people inside it. I saw them." Australia shivered. "They… they looked so frightened. They were trying to breathe, and they couldn't, their mouths were still wide open. It was horrible. There wasn't a single mark on them… they were just shells, they…" he broke off. "Oh God, it was so horrible."

* * *

"…In the past, and probably in the present, too, a number of them did not see eye to eye with us politically, but they are our people–we are one and the same people–and their sorrows in the present instance are also our sorrows; and I want to say to them that any help we can give to them in the present time we will give to them whole-heartedly, believing that were the circumstances reversed they would also give us their help whole-heartedly…"

Northern Ireland had not let go of Ireland's jacket from the moment they crossed the border. He stared up at the man who was speaking, wide-eyed. De Valera was a inspirational speaker, that he was.

Ireland held him hand as they walked through the devastated streets. He caught snippets of conversation, here and there.

"…_Poor _defences? There was none! We were just left wide open to the Jerries…"

"I've always said that this government is no good. They did _nothing_…"

"…It was Dublin. They guided them here to bomb us, I'm sure of it."

"I wouldn't be at all surprised…"

"It's not as though children were evacuated from here like in the mainland. They were all still here, even though there were people in the government who said…"

* * *

4th May

Another raid, this time confined to the docks and shipyards of Belfast. It still hurt, but it hurt less than it had on the 15th.

Ireland didn't wait around for phone lines to be reconnected. He, with his firemen put out the fires with Northern Ireland's. Northern Ireland helped too. When Northern Ireland asked why, he just smiled and said that they were brothers. "We're more brothers than you are with Arthur. We share the same culture and history, although you don't remember it."

And then was across the border again. He wondered if England was bothered by him going over to neutral Ireland so much. He even let go of Ireland's hand when they entered _Áras an Uachtaráin_, _the house of the president_, for the second time. He looked around in amazement at the room. It was understandable, as physically he was only seven years old.

He froze as a tall, blond man walked in through the door. He clung to Ireland.

Ireland looked down at him. "What is it?" Then he turned and saw the visitor. His eyes narrowed "Germany."

"_Irland_."

"Why the hell are you here? I'm neutral if you haven't noticed." Germany raised his eyebrows.

"Playing the neutral card are we?"

Ireland glared at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Allowing the British to pass through part of _your_ airspace while we Axis must not come near you. Aiding an Ally after we bombed their shipyards and docks. Hardly what you would expect from a "neutral" country. And, I have heard that many seek refuge and are granted it in you."

Germany stopped, and looked down at Ireland's leg. "And is this an Ally I see clinging to your leg?" He reached out as if to touch him. As Northern Ireland backed away, flinching, Ireland shoved Northern Ireland behind him.

"_Don't touch him_."

Germany stood tall. "As you wish." He glared down at Ireland. Ireland glared back. "I heard that you don't mention Belfast anymore," Ireland spat. "Because you're scared that we didn't like what you did there. You're scared that de Valera and the Irish-American politicians in the U.S. will tell the U.S. to join the Allies, aren't you?"

Germany gritted his teeth, spun on his heel and stormed out of the door.

* * *

31st May

1.30am

Dublin City was being bombed. _Neutral _Dublin City was being bombed. The pain wasn't so bad as the shock. He was neutral, God damn it! He stared up into the inky black sky. He already knew it was the bloody _Luftwaffe_.

* * *

"We never intended to hit Dublin. I accept responsibility for this. Please accept this money as an apology."

"£327,000 can't bring the dead back, Germany. 27 of my people are dead and 45 are seriously injured, all because of your _Luftwaffe_."

Germany was silent. "We never meant to bomb Dublin."

"I'm still neutral, so get the hell out of my land."

* * *

1946

"You want to be part of the United Nations?" Ireland nodded. He stood up straight and stared staunchly at the permanent members of the security council.

Or as they had been known a year ago, the Allied Forces. Arthur, (representing himself, Cally, Gwynn and Seamus) Alfred, Francis, Yao and Ivan, representing all in the Soviet Union. "I refuse," Ivan stated. And that was the end of that for nine years until they finally let him in. Ireland walked away, thinking one thing. _Neutrality has a price. _

Someone caught his arm as he walked by. Ireland looked at him in surprise. Northern Ireland had grown! He looked about eleven or twelve. "Can we go now?" Ireland blinked in confusion. Then he realised, and smiled. "That would be nice."

* * *

_1941_

"_Sing that one again… please… and, Paddy…?" Ireland smiled at the boy. "What is it Seamus?""Where are the Mountains of Mourne?" Ireland looked flabbergasted. "You've never been to the Mourne Mountains? They're in you!" Northern Ireland looked at his feet._

"_I've lived in England with Arthur and Cally and sometimes Gwynn - she disappears a lot - for a long time…" Ireland grabbed his hand. "When this war's over, we'll go to the Mourne Mountains together. I can't believe you've never been!"_

_

* * *

_

Omake

"_As I came down through Dublin City, at the hour of twelve at night… who should I see but a Spanish lady washing her feet by candlelight…_"Ireland sang, washing the dishes. "_First she washed them, then she dried them, over a fire of ambery coal… in all my life I ne'er did see a maid so sweet about the soles…_"

Australia wandered in. "Paddy?"

"_Whack for the toora loora laddy, whack for the toora loora lay… whack for the toora loora laddy, whack for the toora loora lay…_"

Australia walked briskly into the kitchen. "_As I came back through Dublin City, at the hour of half-past eight… who should I spy but the Spanish lady, brushing her hair in the broad daylight…first she tossed it, then she brushed it, on her lap was a silver comb… in all my life I ne'er did see a maid so fair since I did roam…_"

"Really? That's fine then, go with her. Or Spain." Ireland dropped the plate he was washing, and turned to Australia.

"Fairest _maid _I ever saw. Last night, you were definitely male. You're far prettier than her anyway. And Spain's got nothing on you in my opinion." Australia smiled and then gasped. "Oi! Watch it! What are you doing?"

"Dance with me!" Ireland grinned, and pulled Australia to the centre of the room. "_Whack for the toora loora laddy, whack for the toora loora lay! Whack for the toora loora laddy, whack for the toora loora lay…_"

Australia laughed as they spun about the kitchen, washing-up forgotten.

* * *

"_Tell me ma when I go home, the boys won't leave the girls alone, they pulled me hair and stole me comb, but that's all right 'till I go home_"

New Zealand wandered into the house. "Shay?"

"_She's handsome, she's pretty, she's the belle of Belfast City, she's a-courting, one, two, three… please, won't you tell me who is she?_""Shay _is_ handsome and Shay is pretty." New Zealand said, grinning.

"Shut it." said Northern Ireland. And just to show he wasn't affected, he continued, still cleaning the big windows of England's living room. "_Albert Mooney says he loves her, all the boys are fighting for her, knock on the door and they ring the bell, 'Oh my true love, are you well?'"_

"You've got a nice voice, you know that?" remarked New Zealand. Northern Ireland turned red, but thankfully he was facing the opposite direction. He couldn't just stop there, the other man might wonder why. He sang loudly, pretending not to have heard.

"_Here she comes, as white as snow, rings on her fingers and bells on her toes, old Johnny Mary says she will die, if she doesn't get the fella with the roving eye…_"

* * *

**The song that Ireland sang to N.I. Was "The Mountains of Mourne" which was written by Percy French in 1896. The songs in the omake were "Spanish Lady", a traditional Irish song and "I'll Tell Me Ma/Belle Of Belfast City", a well known children's song.**

**All the things that De Valera said were actual quotes from him.**


	12. Stag Nights and A Sort Of Wedding, 2010

"…They're done… oh God they're finally done…" With that, Scotland slumped forward, and took a gulp of whiskey. "That's the table planning all done… now to _enjoy_ my planning… ha hah… ha ha haaah…"

It had taken her four days to figure out who hated who and who _had _to sit next to who, and organised the data. It was very nerve-wracking, especially if she said the wrong thing and had to run away from angry countries with dangerous-looking weapons.

"I didn't mean anything about Vash and Roderich's relationship like that, he didn't have to shoot at me!" she whined. "Besides, I already knew that Roderich was going out with Gilbert… sheesh…"

She sighed and looked at her outfit for the wedding. She smiled slightly. "Now to sleep for a bit… that would be nice aye… aye… heh…" Northern Ireland and Wales peered into the office. "She's gone barmy from the stress." said Northern Ireland. Wales nodded in agreement.

* * *

The bar was crammed full of people. Surprisingly, there were lots of people who wanted to come to England's stag night rather than America's. It had surprised England, but warmed him inside too. He had thought that he would be alone… then, again, with the company, maybe that would have been better…

"I totally can't, like, believe you're, like, getting married!" squealed Poland. "Tell me, like, what your dress is like, totally, like!"

"What? I'm not wearing a dress!" shouted a flustered England. Poland frowned. "But, like, your sister said, like, that…"

"Do not believe a word that that woman says, Feliks," said England. "I will be wearing a suit."

"Ah… she looked very determined when she told us…" said Russia, a childishly thoughtful look on his face. "Yes…" put in Latvia, shivering.

"Well I'm not," said England. "And that is the end of that."

* * *

It was eleven o'clock at night. The other party was in full swing. "I'm getting married!" yelled America, raising his glass. "To the guy of my dreams! Hell yeah!" He frowned. "Man… how many people do you think'll be there? There'll be hundreds… I don't want to show me, or Iggy up… and I don't want Iggy to run out on me in front of everyone…"

Lithuania looked shocked. "Why- why would he do that?" America sighed. "I dunno, he just seems real nervous all of a sudden. You know?"

Australia slapped the back of America's head playfully. "You're getting married. If _you're_ not nervous, there's something wrong with you. Don't get mopey on us, mate, Lith' escaped from Ivan just to come here. " America laughed as Australia turned away to answer his phone which had just started playing "Waltzing Matilda".

"Hell, what am I worried about? Tomorrow's gonna be the most awesome day of my life! Y-yeah! It will…"

Canada smiled, but his mind was far, far away. His expression turned serious. "Do you think Gwynn's been acting strange?" he asked America. America blinked at his brother.

"Gwin…?"

"You know her, eh?" America looked at him.

"…Yeah…?"

"I think she's been acting really strangely lately. At first I thought that maybe she was emotional about Arthur getting married, but-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" America yelled. "God, is somebody else after Arthur? Not another one-"

"No," said Canada, twitching, "she's _my _girlfriend. She's Arthur's sister. Ring any bells?"

"Are you sure you're not thinking of Connie? You know, the one that shouldn't be a country but for some reason she's still there for no reason? Iggy's only got two sisters, doesn't he?" America asked.

"No, he's got three, _not_ including ones that aren't actually related to him. Connie, Cally and _Gwynn_," said Canada. _How doesn't he know how many sisters his fiancé has…?_

"Still not ringing any bells. Relax with me, buddy, it's my last night of freedom! Hey there, how you doin', Antonio? Hell, I'm getting married!"

America laughed. "I'm Iggy…" he said in a _terrible_, _terrible_ English accent, "I'm getting hitched to the awesome Alfred F. Jones. He's sexy and cool and awesome and-"

"Stop making fun of my boyfriend." deadpanned Ireland's voice. America, alarmed, turned around wildly, trying to see his fiancé's brother.

"Paddy? Where…? Where?"

"In the phone." And indeed, a voice seemed to be trickling out of Australia's mobile phone.

"Ah, Paddy, I think he was trying to do a Pommie accent…"

"How are they anything alike?" demanded Ireland. "They're different accents!"

"Well they are a bit... Ah, well then, he failed drastically, didn't he?"

"You got that- oh hell! What the hell, Arthur? …Well, at least he's loosening up a bit with some drink in him. I'd better make sure he gets at least five more. Love you, Aussie."

"Love ya." Ireland disconnected the call.

* * *

"…_Ahm gettin' married in the mornin'… Ding dong, the bells are gonna chi-i-i-i-i-me! Girls, come an' kiss me! Show me 'ow you'll miss me! But get me to the church on ti-i-i-me…_" Arthur sang drunkenly, sprawled across the table.

"Yie've 'ad enough -hic- Arthur…" hiccupped Scotland on the floor. "Ya're gettin' _married_ in th'mornin', yie dinnae want -hic- an'angover, dae yie -hic- ken?"

Arthur pouted and fell off the table. Luckily, the others were nearly all passed out drunk anyway, so nobody laughed. "_Fine_."

"Come play, me leprechauns!" laughed Ireland. "Ah, where's ye're lad when ye need 'im?"

"Aussie's at Alfie's do." said Scotland, waving about her glass, and showering whiskey over the nearer nations. "B't Brett's o'er there… ah think anyway… bit 'azy…" she grinned. "I'll betcha he'll be _playin'_ wie wee Seamus before this night's over… if yie ken whit ah mean… yie catch mah drift?"

Ireland laughed. "Call yourself a big sister to those boys, woman? And I _do _know where Aussie is…"

Scotland chuckled. "Ah wahnt what's best fae 'em, don't ah? Seamus is legal in me in looking_-age _at _least_... isn't 'e...? What's his age...? An' it'll be good fae his attitude. Far over it'n _actual_ years, yie ken whit ah say?"

"That I do. I still don't talk about it." Ireland frowned. "Wait… are you sayin' that Seamus needs to get laid?"

"Glad yie kenned -hic- ma way ah thinkin', Paddy. Glad -hic- ah am…"

* * *

"Oh my God… oh my God… oh my God…" moaned England the next day. "I'm getting married, _and _I've got a hangover… don't know what to be more concerned about at this present moment…"

"I told yie tae stay aff the drink at the party…" Scotland whimpered, clinging to her head.

"Like you're one to talk." snapped England. "Look at you. We're in the same boat here!"

"I'm not the one gettin' married in front of all that lot that are coming!"

"Don't remind me," snapped England, who winced soon afterwards. "Remind me not to shout with a hangover…"

* * *

The hall was filled with all different nations, all talking so the hall buzzed in anticipation. America and his best man, Canada, lingered about the front of the hall.

"The bride's allowed to be late, Alfred. He'll be here soon."America turned to his brother, smiling. "'Course he will."

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU MEAN?" England looked at his sister. Disbelief and anger clouded his features.

"Hey, hey, this wasn't my fault, I swear! Don't look at me like that, I feel bad enough already!"

"You lost the outfit! Yes, it is your fault!" screeched England, past the point of caring whether his voice sounded strange.

"I said I was sorry!" Scotland whimpered. God damn it. Most important detail and she'd lost it. God damn it…

Wait a minute. "Arthur," she said, seriously, "Do you want to get married?"

England looked confused at the seriousness in her voice. "Of course I do. Why the hell else would I be here?"

"I really am sorry about the mix-up, Arthur. There's no time to go back and get anything else, but," she gulped inwardly, "there's a wedding dress about your size in that cupboard over there." England gawked at her.

"A what?"

"You're going to have to wear the dress." she said, calmly. England gawked at her.

"…have I ever told you exactly how much I hate you?"

"Aye, you have," said Scotland.

"You _planned_ this." he whispered, menacingly.

"I didnae plan this, Arthur." defended Scotland.

"Yes you did," deadpanned England.

"No, I didnae."

"Yes, you did. How could you even have known there was a dress if you didn't plan it?"

"Aye, so I looked around a bit, is that a crime?"

"Arthur! Cally!" An exasperated Wales flew through the door. "Everyone's wondering where you are! It's going to start soon, and everyone's here!"

"What, everyone? There were no cancellations?" A strange thing for a wedding of this size. Then again, it was the "Superpower Wedding", as it had been dubbed.

"No, none." England looked towards the floor, eyebrows furrowed, and a sad, distant look in his eyes. "Sorry," he said, "I…"

* * *

"Where is he, Matt? Tell me!"

"Stop worrying. Gwynn said that he's nearly ready."

"Gwynn? Oh, your imaginary friend. Great source, Matt." Canada looked quite put out by this. "She's not imaginary. She's my girlfriend."

His rant was put off by a commotion at the back of the hall. "Oh my God." said America. "Oh my God. I'm getting- I'm getting…"

Canada hit him, quite forcefully, on his shoulder. "Oh, so _now_ you get the butterflies?"

"I… I'm going to see Arthur, 'kay? Cover for me!"

"E-Eh?" America was already sprinting up the aisle, spreading chatter as he passed the rows.

"Where is he going?" "What is he doing?"

"What on earth?"

* * *

Several minutes later, Scotland spoke slowly into the pay-phone in the hall. "You're. Kidding. Me On."

"No, I am not kidding you on," said England on the other end, tersely. "I am currently driving to Heathrow with America to board a flight."

"YOU'RE KIDDING ME! No… what the hell? Didn't you think at all? What the hell am I going to say to everyone! They took time out of-"

"Cally… you have always said that I should stop following people's expectations of me. As you put it, "live a little"."

"Arthur, I didn't mean like-"

"Alba, listen to me." Her old name struck a chord in Scotland. She calmed down slightly. "Although I could maybe have swallowed my pride and gone in there in a dress… Alfred couldn't do it in front of everyone. He told me so in very blunt terms."

"Just because he had butterflies-"

"I will _not_ be left at the altar. I am protecting my own pride too."

A voice yelled something about "never doing something like that to you! I love you!"

A quiet giggle sounded through the phone. "Really?"

"'Course!" said America.

"Guys. Still here. What the hell… oh God, you are so dead when I get my hands on you Britannia. You as well, _Alfred_. I sacrificed my beauty sleep to organise this for you. Credit Crunch mean anything to you?"

"I'm out of recession." said England, primly.

"WELL, _GOOD FOR YOU_! _I'M NOT_, YOU WEE EEJIT! Don't mention it!" She winced as she looked nervously at the door separating her from the crowd. She lowered her voice. "_Eejit_…"

"You brought it up."

"I don't care. You are paying for this, Alfie."

There was a splutter. "I'll pay the money for it as well-"

"Oh no you won't. It was Alfie's butterflies, and you'll end up using my money in taxes to do it. Are we clear?"

"One, I don't use your money that often, and two, it was more serious than butterflies, Alba. He was going to run off, he even said so."

"D-don't say that! I-I-it was just a-" said America, reminded of the injuries overprotective sister Alba could inflict on poor unsuspecting Land of the Free.

"…since I'm in such a good mood, stay in Balmoral anyway. You're still paying for it, after all. I take it you're going to a registry office or something in Alfie?"

"Y-yes… indeed. I am still going to be married today or tomorrow at the latest. No more butterfly pull-outs, Alfred."

"Aye. If you do I'll tell Gwynn you hurt her sheep again."

"Gwynn? Again? When did I- who's-"

"It's a very serious threat Alfred. Do not underestimate my sister's love of sheep."

"Wait, so you _do_ have a sister called Gwynn? Matt was right?"

"Matt?"

"Get married. Come back. Go to Balmoral. I'll be having a word with you two when you get back. Are. We. Clear?"

"Y-yes ma'am!"

The phone disconnected. Scotland breathed out. Then Wales peeked in. "You do know there's several hundred people waiting for Arthur and Alfred out there, don't you?"

"…Oh crap." "I'm getting out of here. There's two taxis booked for me and you. I'd advise that you went before you get lynched. That lot are easily pissed off." remarked Wales.

"Aye, count me out of this. See you when this lot blows over. I'd better get Francis out of there too… and Matt? Is he going with you?"

"Yeah… you never know when _they _will notice you."

"Good point. Let's move out."

Omake: The Llewelyn Incident or "When America Hurt A Sheep"

"Cally!" An excited America bounded up to Scotland. "What're you doing?"

"Cooking haggis." she said, preoccupied with the dish."Haggis! Tell me, what is that? I've had it before, but I don't know what it is!" He didn't know what he was eating? Then again, he always ate hamburgers. She sighed.

"A haggis is a three legged beastie that runs about the Highlands willy-nilly. The front leg is shorter than the other two so it can run up the hills. It's usually brown or grey, and they're quite rare nowadays- all that hunting to make them into puddings."

"Can I catch one?"

"Just don't get your hopes up, I said they're really rare."

"Cally! I got one!"Scotland dropped the dish she was scraping. She turned her head awkwardly. "W-whit? There isn't really a haggis animal, you know, don't-"

"Here!" he said, brandishing the "haggis". Scotland peered at it for a few seconds before reaching a verdict.

"Aye… lad… that's a sheep with two legs tied together."

"Cally? Is that Alfred?" A quiet voice that normally would have gone unheard floated past the door. A sudden "oh crap" expression appeared on Scotland's face.

"Untie the sheep! Now! Before she sees it! Hurry up, bampot!"

But there was no time. A small, brown-haired young woman wandered aimlessly into the kitchen. "Cally? What are you doing…?"

"Ah, n-nothing, nothing in particular, why? What would I be doing? D-did you get a haircut?"

"No…" Wales said quietly.

"Well your hair looks lovely anyway! How's the shee- eh- cows- back home? Doing well, ach that's grand, please go away, I'm in the middle of-"

"What the hell have you done to that poor sheep?" The question was light-hearted in tone, making it more terrifying, like Russia's normal tone.

"I- I did nothing! It was him, I swear! Tell her Alfie, it was you! Nothing to do with me!" By this time, she was sweating buckets.

"Who am I supposed to tell?" The question was one that should not have been said.

* * *

Wales smiled gently at the sheep in her arms. "I think I'll call you Llewelyn… you'll like it down south much more than in Cally's house…"

She wandered further and further away from the smoking ruin that used to be a house and two scarred-for-life people.

"Scary Gwynn," whimpered a female voice, "scary Gwynn…"

Extra: At The "Wedding"

"They couldn't have bailed us out too?" said Ireland, annoyed at his sisters and brother. He and his little brother were slowly getting backed against a wall by a pissed-off crowd.

"Where the hell are they? They're your brothers, aren't they?" said a European accent.

"Do you know how much paperwork I put off? Do you have any idea how it mounts up?" boomed an impressive voice over the rest of the crowd.

"Tell us, where are they?" said India, looking impassively at them.

"I don't know," whimpered Northern Ireland, "please, just leave me alone! Don't touch Rathlin Island!" he yelped as a hand accidentally brushed over his hair.

"Shay! Seamus! Over here!" somebody yelled.

"B-Brett?"

"Come on! Quickly," said New Zealand. "You too Paddy. Aussie'll be pissed off if you die - I mean, _I _don't want you to die, but-"

Ireland and Northern Ireland burst through the crowd at the encouragement, and continued to run out of the hall.

"What did happen anyway?" asked their saviour.

Ireland shrugged. "We'll hear about it soon enough, I guess… we should hide for a while."

"Yeah, you do that." New Zealand said. "Stay at Aussie's place. His house is massive."

Ireland smiled genially. "I hardly think I'd need too much space between Aussie and-" Ireland looked behind him and his face turned pale. "ANGRY MOB AT 6 O'CLOCK, PEOPLE!" he cried. "Go, go, go!"


	13. The Avoidance Of Repercussions, 2010

England stared up at Balmoral Castle, a rare look of childish excitement on his face. Ever since Queen Victoria had told him how wonderful it was, her "dear paradise in the Highlands", he had always wanted to stay, but was always thrown out by nightfall by his easily angered sister.

And now he was here. Finally, after waiting since the foundation stone was laid in 1853, he was going to _stay _in Balmoral Castle. America looked up at it as well, a not-so-rare look of excitement dancing across his loveable features. "So, this is it! Our honeymoon!"

England's face split into a wide grin. "Yes, it is. Not very exotic, but-"

"As long as it's with you anywhere's perfect." England looked slyly at America. "My, my, aren't we the romantic? Been taking lessons from the frog, have we?"

"No…" said America cautiously. England laughed. "Coming in?" He started walking towards the door, a spring in his step.

America stayed still, looking suspiciously at the door and windows of the Castle. England walked briskly back to him and tugged on his sleeve.

"She won't be here. My sister may hate me, but she wouldn't spoil my honeymoon. She knows that if she did, and was ever married to the frog, I would ruin hers in a spectacular fashion she could never achieve by herself."

America was still not convinced by this argument. So England took up another strategy. "Alfred… are you coming to bed or not?"

"Oh hell yeah." said America bluntly, as he partially led, partially dragged England by the hand inside. In the bright sunlight, a silvery ring glinted and glittered on the fourth finger of his left hand. A matching ring on the American's finger clinked against it a few times.

* * *

Back in the another area of the Scottish Highlands, things weren't so pretty. "A-aye Russia… th-they weren't…"

"What did they do? I only want to know that, da, so I can have a chat with them! Just a friendly chat, da!"

Scary chat you mean, thought Scotland. "I really don't know where they are," she lied.

"Hm," said Russia, in his famed scary child voice. "I suppose, da… I hope you're not lying to me… that wouldn't be very nice."

"N-n-no, of course not," said Scotland, sweating visibly. "They just ran off - I really don't know where they went. Probably around Alfred somewhere!" she said, hoping telling a small truth would make her sound more convincing.

"I'll see you soon, da! _Very soon_." The phone clicked to signal that it was off. Scotland sank to the floor, trembling. The peace was broken a few seconds later as stray yells shot up straight through thick glass panes. Why wouldn't they give up already?

"Where's Alfred," they yelled, "where's Arthur? We need to see them!" The first time she had gone outside to tell them to go away, she was seriously scared. So now, she was holed up in England's study. England's study, of all places - you see, if they stormed the house, they would never think to look there for her. And that wasn't even counting the numerous damp, mouldy, mediaeval secret passages she could hide in branching off from this point and the hidden library that Arthur was so proud of. Forward planning, as it were.

Of course, she still had the angry phone calls to look forward to. Russia's own creepy one had been the latest in quite a long list of irate guests demanding to know what the hell had gone on in that hall. To put it simply, she was stuck. France had run away across the Channel, while she was stuck here. Bastard. Although, to be fair, he didn't know exactly how bad the situation had got.

She curled up in a ball and tried not to cry as the phone rang again.

* * *

Two Days Beforehand, Heathrow Airport, London, England

America heaved a sigh and rubbed at the glass, trying to get rid of some condensation he had accidentally breathed onto the window. England slapped his arm casually, not really meaning anything by the gesture.

America grinned and flashed his fiancé - who he really should technically be married to by that time - a thumbs-up. England frowned, but then smiled and flicked Nantucket playfully. America pouted, but the expression was replaced by one of anticipation as the plane's engines roared into life.

* * *

"Here we go, then."

The Irelands were safe in Australia's house, Scotland noted. Ireland had phoned her and told her so, to stop her worrying about them. Not that she had been.

He had gone on to describe to her how amazing Australia was, commenting on the amazing scenery and where he had gone "sight-seeing". Too much information, if you asked Scotland, although when she pointed this out to him, he responded that he was actually sight-seeing as a human, in a literal sense.

He did say though, that the scenery was "all down to Aussie" and that in both senses, he was spectacular. Scotland made gagging noises at this. "The love - it's killing me!"

* * *

The Day Before, Los Angeles, USA

"You sorted everything out? You?" England asked, incredulously.

America seemed put out by this. "Why d'you sound so surprised? I didn't get to be the most powerful country in the goddamn world by luck, you know! I worked for it!"

England stared at him, still quite incredulous that everything was planned. America looked at him after about five seconds had passed. "You… you didn't think it was just luck? I did a hell of a lot to get so powerful, you know! Tell me you didn't think it was luck!" Silence reigned supreme to be broken by a whine of "Iggyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!"

"Tell him to be quiet Matthew," a non-descript girl said to a non-descript man behind them.

"Alfred, shut up… Alfred… ALFRED!" he shouted quietly. Ghost-like, Wales laid a hand gently on England's shoulder, who proceeded to jump out of his skin with a manly yelp - "Ah!"

"Arthur…"

"G-g-g-" he said, his mind lost for his sister's name. Thankfully, she spoke before he had to add extra letters to the "G".

"Nice welcome, _mrawd_." she said, slipping into her native tongue. "Please tell Alfred to be quiet for a moment. He hasn't noticed you're not listening."

"Alfred, please calm yourself," he said in response. "What is it anyway?"

"Am I not allowed to see my big brother get hitched? Is Matt not allowed to see his? We thought we might as well go with you, so we tracked you. It really wasn't that hard."

England was a bit pissed at this. Were their tracks so easy to follow?

"Tch. Fine."

* * *

Wales, no doubt was in Wales, thought Scotland. She had been very mysterious during her phone call though, just saying that she was doing fine, as was Canada.

* * *

"Stunning location, thought, don't you think Alfred? I mean - _Balmoral_…"

"As long as it's with you anywhere's perfect." America smiled seductively.

England frowned. "You've already said that Alfred… those exact words once before."

"…n-no I haven't…"

The noise from outside had quietened down. Scotland pressed an ear against the window to listen. "Francis, can't you get us in?" one heavily-accented voice said sharply.

"Yeah!" said another voice, which was slightly higher than the other.

"Non, non, non… you cannot crowd the house this way. One should never treat a lady in this manner. _C'est inexcusable_." Was he talking about her? Something fluttered briefly in Scotland's heart. Either there was a riot in Edinburgh or Glasgow or this was what was known as…

"We've got to see her Francis! We need to see Arthur, and Alfred, and she knows where they are!"

"You do not know that, and- _aiee_!" yelped France at something unknown. "It- it is nothing… I will go now, _oui_?" The noise levels lifted as he ran off.

"My hero." she said, sarcastically.

* * *

About two weeks later, everything died down when the lovebirds came back. England and America got yelled at, then everybody was satisfied, and left.

Of course, the situation for the newly-weds was not ideal. America had to be in the USA, England had to stay with the rest of the UK. When America left for Washington D. C., England became a bit depressed. He took to flitting through the corridors of the country house at night, muttering in Old English.

The matter was surprisingly resolved by Ireland. "Aussie's the other side of the bloody world, and we make it work!" he had exclaimed. "Get things into perspective!"

His words seemed to have done the trick nicely. England settled down, and enjoyed his rise from recession, commenting that it was nice to be able to smell his roses again when his three-year old cold was finally vanquished.

But nothing could have prevented the depression attacking in full force again when he lost Cadbury's. But, as they say, the cloud had a silver lining as he cursed America with all his might. He didn't miss his husband quite so much as he did before, and was able to cope living separately from him.

America still missed him every day, but he managed. After all, he was the United States of America. He had more important things than true love and happiness to take care of.

* * *

Omake

A month had passed. England stared morosely at the grey-blue sky. He wished it would brighten up just a tad, to the shade of his husband's eyes behind sharpening lenses.

Husband. The word still tasted strange in his mouth. After over two millennia, a whirlwind of love and engagement lasting only a few months had ended his bachelor days. It only seemed a day since America popped the question. England chuckled at the memory. What a guy. No previous romantic relationship and yet he asked for his hand. A very brash thing to do. A very Alfred thing to do. No wonder England had thought it was set-up between their bosses.

Then again, had the question been merely to go on a date, would England have ever bothered answering him? The answer shamed the old nation to the very core, but he would have tossed the man out of his house. It was the sheer bravado of America's proposal that had caused the inquisition to last longer, and for England to finally agree.

"Iggy!" The sudden cry jolted the silent air around England, who stood up and whirled around to face the welcome intruder.

"Alfred…" Tears formed in the corners of England's eyes. America was here. His husband. He walked towards him.

"Alfred…" he leaned into his husband.

"HOW THE HELL COULD YOU BLOODY TAKE CADBURY'S AWAY FROM MEEEEEE! YOU WANKER!"America seemed scared by the outburst of emotion.

"Hey, Iggy, nothing's changed about it!"

"Everything's changed, you wanker! It'll never be the same. Cadbury's wasn't just a company!"

America had to disagree, but as he did, England glared fiercely at him. Then he smiled sardonically.

"At least you know good chocolate when you see it… my chocolate is way better than that horrible stuff you dare call chocolate."

"Not true!" cried America, "it's not!"

"True." said Scotland.

"True." said Ireland

"True." said Northern Ireland.

"True." said Wales, whose voice was swept up in the masses.

"True." said a few fairies floating about.

"True." said the Isle of Man. Sealand nodded.

"True." said Cornwall.

"I agree with all of you. True." said Australia.

"Ditto." said New Zealand, popping up from behind Northern Ireland.

"Same here." said Canada, unnoticed.

"Much as I detest to take the side of _l'Angleterre_, it is technically also a company which _l'Ecosse_ holds dear, so I may say _c'est vrai_." said France.

"Were you all spying on me?" demanded England.

* * *

Translations

Welsh

English

_mrawd_

brother

_French_

English

_C'est vrai._

It's true


	14. St David's Day, 2010

**Happy St. David's Day! I forgot about it, which is why it's so short …yeah… I couldn't just leave Wales' birthday now, could I? So I did it quickly, which is why there might be typos I didn't see. Thanks to Oobeley Doobeley for Kumajirou recognising Wales and Llewelyn, Canada… thanks to mousers, and Rhio-bob for their ideas too. XD**

**

* * *

**

A young woman sat on a swing, her feet touching the ground. She held a sheep in her hands. She looked severely depressed. "Hey, Llewelyn?"

The sheep looked up at her, and if sheep could show emotion, it would look wary. "Yes?""Do you think anyone remembered my birthday?"

The sheep would have looked at her in pity if it could. However it could not. It was a shame, to be forgotten about on your birthday. But… there was just one thing… "Not to be rude, but who are you?"

"Gwynn, your owner, Wales, the forgotten one… whatever you want."

* * *

"Maybe my siblings remembered, and they're going to throw a surprise birthday party for me… no… they won't, will they…" Wales face saddened even more. A giant red shape burst through the clouds at that exact moment.

"Dewi, happy birthday to you too!" Wales stroked the dragon's snout, a smile appearing on her face as she did so. The dragon snorted and nuzzled her face, reminding one of a horse. But then, just ten seconds after it landed, Dewi appeared to take fright at something and with one beat of its skeletal wings, it flew off.

"D-dewi? A-ah! Matthew!" Inwardly, Wales glowed. He'd remembered!

" GWYNN!" he yelled quietly, his face bright and excited. "Ah, Matt, I-"

"I KICKED HIS ASS! YEAH! I won! I won! I won!" Wales face dimmed somewhat, and she hung her head. "I knew it was too much to hope for…"

Llewelyn looked up. "It's Canada."

"You recognise him and not me…?"

* * *

He'd won. He'd won! Canada inwardly and outwardly celebrated, kissing Wales wildly and hugging her tightly. "Do you know what day it is today, Matt?" she asked, conversationally, hiding her tenseness. "March the first, isn't it?" Canada replied, not thinking.

And then, he recalled something. Namely _the date_.

_Oh my God, no way. _

Oh hell, it was her birthday.

And he didn't have a present.

He'd forgotten.

Completely.

What the hell was he going to do! _Help me, somebody! _It was then that a voice drifted through his head.

"_Mathieu_," it said in French, coolly, "_You were raised by a Frenchman. Calm yourself and improvise. See that rose over there? Pick it grandly and present it to her. Say something in French while you do so._"

Quebec, you lifesaver.

He did pick the rose grandly and presented it to Wales, with a small "_bonne fête_" and "_pour tu_". Wales did blush… but was not fooled. She took it gracefully and thanked him.

* * *

When he could, Canada rushed into the house. What did he have packed? Anything? C'mon, there had to be something!

He practically tore open his suitcase, flinging out things that he could not possibly pass off as a gift - and then, he saw it. He hesitated, then told himself that he could get more while snatching it out.

"Gwynn! I got your present!" Wales looked up. "M-matthew…?"

"Here!" he smiled at her. She picked up the present and undid the bow. A large bottle of maple syrup.

"Thank you, Matt." she said. Kumajirou poked his head up. "It's Wales."

"You recognise her and not me…?"


	15. The Seventeenth Of March, 2010

"Get it away from me!" snapped Ireland. "It's evil, I tell you!"

Australia looked down at his pet. "He's not evil…" he said softly, hurt that his boyfriend would say such a thing about his pet. "It hates me then!" proclaimed Ireland. "It flew at me the first time I saw it!"

"You're exaggerating."

"Its claws were bared and its eyes gleamed red as it spotted me!"

"Gilbert's eyes gleam red." Australia muttered, pout forming on his face.

"Well he's not trying to scar my face! Unless you count that- Aussie?" Australia had turned, and faced the opposite direction.

"Not evil." Ireland looked despairingly over at his little brother and Aussie's little brother.

* * *

"A kiwi?" asked Northern Ireland.

"Yeah." replied New Zealand.

The kiwi pecked at the ground and waddled over to Northern Ireland, pecking at his trouser leg experimentally. Northern Ireland laughed. "He's so cute!"

New Zealand laughted. "I know! Isn't he?" His face suddenly dropped. "His species might become extinct in fifteen years… hard to believe."

"W-what? Really?"

"…no! I'm not gonna let that happen! He's my national symbol! Can't let him die."

The atmosphere was becoming heavy. Ireland tried to inject some light-heartedness in the room. "So, you're coming to my birthday?"

"Well, yeah, of course." Australia said, smile creeping back. "17th of March, yeah?"

"Yeah. _Lá Fhéile Pádraig_. And you two as well!" he said pointing at the other two nations in the room.

"Well yeah." New Zealand said, agreeably.

"You wouldn't let me miss it." Northern Ireland muttered, pouting.

"Brilliant!" Take that, Italies!

* * *

Romano sat, brooding. "Oi, fratello. What's the news on the guest list?"

Italy looked quite depressed as he came into the room, something which attracted Romano's attention immediately. "Did you finally break up with the macho potato?" Please say yes, please say yes.

Italy looked distraught at the very notion. "V-ve~? No, no!"

"Well, what is it then?"

"…ve~ ve~ I think Doitsu doesn't want to come to my birthday party… ve~" The ves sounded very sad. Inwardly Romano instinctively corrected Italy's "my" to "our". Then, he inwardly celebrated.

"Why's that then?"

"Ve~ Patrick's birthday has lots of beer and potatoes… ve~… Doitsu was looking wistful… ve~"

The inward celebration stopped. "WHAT? I will not lose to the third potato!" Romano screamed.

"Ve~? Third?"

"First is the macho potato. Second is the macho potato's potato brother. Third is the one who stole my birthday."

"Ve~? But he had this date before we did~ ve~"

"I don't care! He is not stealing any of our guests! Even other potatoes!" Romano screamed again."Ve~ ve~ ve~" Italy looked happier now that Romano was on his side. "Ve~"

"Where is the goddamn potato?"

"Ve~ in his house, ve~"

"Veneziano. Much as I hate your badly-chosen potato, he is coming to your birthday. _Capice_?"Italy smiled widely.

"Sì!"

* * *

17th March

After several mafia related incidents that made Italy cry, Romano finally told Germany outright that "if he didn't come to Veneziano's birthday, he would make sure that Germany's head was blown off, and his potato body would forever stumble about, and a sea would crop up between his North and South. Of blood. _Capice_?"

Germany didn't know what this was about, and said so. "I was always going to your party, Veneziano," he said. Cue much hugging and ve~ing. It made Romano sick.

* * *

Today was the day. Romano looked out of the window. It was too late. How couldn't he have… how could he have forgotten?

* * *

Ireland's party was well under way. Across the globe, hundreds - nay, thousands of parades walked across streets, celebrating Ireland's birthday for him, without realising it.

Ireland loved this day.

"_Beannachtaí na Féile Páraic oraibh_!" he yelled to the room. A general mutter and "to you too" was said around the room. The room was crammed. Australia managed to trip over to Ireland.

"Hey- woah!" Somebody's foot "accidentally" tripped him up, and he flew, headfirst, into Ireland's chest - who grabbed him. "Are you all right, Aussie?"

"Yeah," said Australia, smiling up at him. "I'm fine." Ireland grinned at Scotland, who gave him a thumbs-up and drew her foot back in.

"Bit crowded here, isn't it," said Ireland.

"We're not leaving yet. You invited all these people," Australia reprimanded him.

"Ach, the youth of today. Never want to live a little. What happened to birthday wishes?"

"Not yet. Give it a few hours at least," said Australia, who then smirked. "Then we'll see that the birthday boy gets all he wants." He kissed Ireland's cheek. "Happy birthday. I love you."

* * *

The Italies' party was considerably smaller. It ended sooner. This was all because of Ireland, thought Romano. He scowled. Italy had gone off with Germany to his house. It had turned out to be a rubbish birthday, after all.

"Lovi~?" Romano leapt up. "Ch-chigi! Don't just yell my name! Is that you, Anton- _bastardo_?"

"_Sí_! Ah… is there nobody else here?" Spain wandered in, looking genuinely concerned at the lack of presence in the house. "They left. The party's over."

"…I hoped I hadn't missed it. Lovi! Happy birthday. Ah, here!" He brandished something leafy.

"What's that?"

"A tomato plant!"

"I have loads of those," said Romano, who hadn't actually thought that Spain would get him anything.

"Not this one. It's directly descended from the first one that we ever planted together." Spain smiled happily.

Romano blinked in astonishment as he took the plant from Spain. "How do you know that?"

"I've always had one from the seeds of that plant, and this year, I planted two, so we'd both have one!"

"_Bastardo_…" Romano stroked the green leaves with more tenderness than he had ever bestowed on another person. "_G-grazie_…" he stammered, attempting to feign indifference, and failing spectacularly.

Spain hugged him and whispered, "_Te quiero_…"

"What was that?" Romano genuinely hadn't heard.

"Do you like it?" Spain asked

Romano pouted. "I-it's OK… I suppose."

"_¿Qué haces está noche?_" The question seemed to come out of nowhere.

"Wh-what? I- I'm not doing anything tonight. Why?" Romano scowled. "_¿Bailamos?_" What? What did he mean, did he want to dance?

"Maybe if you ask me in Italia- wait, no! No, no, no!"

"_Sí_!"

"I meant no!"

"You meant _sí_."

* * *

"Aussie. It's been three hours," Ireland said, jumping up and down, "Can we go now?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Australia said, fighting his tiredness. It was late at night, after all.

"Come on then!" The other man was alert though, and flung Australia's Britain coat - so called because it was good at keeping British coldness out - at him.

"Wait… why are we going outside?" Australia enquired, surprised that Ireland was unlocking the front door of his house."You'll see," he promised as got into, and started, his old rusty car. Australia, hesitantly, got into the passenger side. Ireland seemed awake - he wouldn't fall asleep at the wheel.

However, Australia did.

* * *

"Aussie. Wake up. Aussie!" Ireland hissed into his ear.

"Nngh… Wh-where are we?" asked Australia, blinking sleep out of his eyes as he looked around. "Wh-where's the car?"

"There'll be cars enough here once they destroy the place," Ireland said, grimly. "I want you to see it before they do."

Australia looked around. "Where are we?"

"_Teamhair na Rí_. The Hill of Tara."

Australia realised that Ireland was holding him in a bridal position. "H-hey. Let me down." Ireland let him down. The cold night air blew away his sleepiness as Australia took in his surroundings.

"See there?" Ireland flashed his torch at a large stone that stood tall. "That's _Lia Fáil_. The Stone of Destiny."

"I thought it was your sister who had that…"

"She lies. Well, I think she does. We don't actually know which one is real, and there's been so many fakes…" Ireland grabbed his boyfriend's hand and led him up to the stone. "It was moved from over there to here," the torchlight pointed out the way to Australia, "To mark the graves of four-hundred rebels who died here, during the Battle of Tara."

Australia, not sure whether he was allowed to touch the stone, asked Ireland if he could. "Well, yes, just don't break it."

Australia stroked the cold stone. "Are we even allowed to be this close…?"

"I'm Ireland."

"Oh, yeah."

"It roars when touched by the rightful king of Tara. The last time it roared… oh, that was so long ago…" He laughed. "I feel so old…"

Ireland dragged Australia away, still explaining things. "This place was one my seat of power - loads of my kings got crowned here. Do you know, some people think I used to be Atlantis, and this was the capital?"

"Really?"

"Nonsense, of course. Well, unless I lost my memory of it… or it was somebody else at the time… which is a possibility, I guess… according to the myths, the _Tuatha Dé Danann _brought down the stone. Ah, they're the godlike people. I wasn't there at the time, so I don't know about that…" he went on.

"And here-" he said, stopping abruptly, "Is the Mound of the Hostages. Overkings - like from here - kept important hostages here to ensure submission from their people. You know, Niall of the Nine Hostages was called that because he held hostages from all my provinces - and from Britain too. Coming in?"

Australia placed a hand on the stone passageway, and peered curiously in. He was sure he was trespassing, but he was with Ireland himself.

"It's aligned on the cross-quarter days," he said, "Even if Cally and Arthur say theirs are more accurate than this one, it's still brilliant, and more than adequate."Australia looked around the dark passageway, lit up with a white, flickering light. For some reason it made his eyelids heavy.

"There's stones like _Lia Fail _in the churchyard here too," Ireland babbled on. Australia smiled, sleepy. "I love Tara… I feel most at home here, for some reason. So I wanted you to see it. That's why I held my party in County Meath, so I could show you it."

"…Thank you." Australia's eyes flickered and closed softly. His head fell, barely awake, onto Ireland's shoulder. He breathed out slowly. Ireland sat down on the ground, holding Australia by the waist, and lay down on an extremely thick blanket that he had somehow managed to hide on him, that he had quickly whipped out and spread on the ground.

Ireland chuckled as Australia shivered in his sleep. He held a hand to his mouth, as if he needed to contain it - and whispered something indistinct. The air around him seemed to warm up incredibly - almost like they were indoors. He muttered again.

If a passer-by had decided that they really wanted to see Tara at night, they would have been surprised to see two figures disappearing into the night.

The invisible Ireland stared up at his sky, as the invisible Australia, asleep, snuggled closer to him. He breathed out. "Aisling. Wake me up if the Garda decide to trip over us, so I can get away."

A fluttering shape giggled. As it danced around in the gentle breeze. "I swear, I'll kill you if you don't. I saved you from those leprechauns, remember?" It nodded and fluttered off.

Ireland closed his eyes and hugged Australia closer to him. They lay there, still, breathing softly.

"_Is tú mo ghrá_…"

Omake

"What's wrong with my teeth?" England snapped at the tittering other nation.

"Don't speak to me! Oh the breath! I can feel myself fading away…" France moaned. He'd been speaking to America too much, and had caught onto the idea that England's teeth were terrible.

"There's nothing wrong with my breath, you bloody git!"

"No! The crookedness! It makes me ill! Oh God, British teeth!" America grinned, foolishly joining the conversation. (This was before they were engaged, you see. They do say that you tease the ones you secretly love…)

"Shut up, bampot." Scotland snapped, deciding to join the fray. "You too, you wee backstabber," she addressed France. "My teeth are just like the rest of me - bonny. And so are his - although the rest of him isn't."

France shut up, not wanting injuries before it had even gone eleven o'clock. America still laughed annoyingly, pissing off the British nations exceedingly, (who were sensitive about their teeth), and vowed to slowly burn the nation that came up with the joke. Their suspicions were firmly rooted in America.

* * *

England scrubbed at his teeth, viciously. He didn't have bad teeth, and he would show them all. Nevertheless, the jokes continued until that day…

* * *

"Oi, gits, one and all!" England cried to the World Summit, "Look at this!"

"Going blind are we, _rosbif_?" France looked at the paper. "What is this?"

"Teeth. Countries with the best teeth. And would you care to look at the top? Hm? Who's there, do you think?"

"_Sacre bleu_!"

"Yes, it is I - and my siblings, of course - who has the best teeth of all of you! Ha ha ha ha! Just because I'm not obsessive like you, Alfred!"

"…I'm not obsessive about it. Aren't you going a little overboard with this, Iggy?"

"Shut up! Don't take the adult side here, you started it, with your - unnatural - teeth!"

"Whaddya mean, unnatural?"

"You're telling me teeth are supposed to glow in the dark?"

"Hey, they don't glow in the dark!"

"Tch. I doubt it."

* * *

_Irish Gaelic/ Irish phrase_

English

_Lá Fhéile Pádraig_

St. Patrick's Day

_Beannachtaí na Féile Páraic oraibh!_

St. Patrick's Day blessing upon you!

_Tuatha Dé Danann_

A semi-godlike race of people in Irish mythology.

_Garda_

The Irish police

_Is tú mo ghrá_

I love you

_Spanish_

English

_Te quiero_

I love you

_¿Qué haces está noche?_

What are you doing tonight?

_¿Bailamos?_

Do you want to dance?


	16. The Industrial Revolution, Mainly 1842

_Do you know what they're calling it, Arthur? _

_The Industrial Revolution. Gone are the old days of when farming was on top. Although, what with these new Corn Laws you've managed to pass, they're doing quite well. I heard it described as the Golden Age of Farming, or something along those lines anyway. You sly, sly person, making sure our farmers get the best deal, and the population have to buy from us before they can get cheap stuff from overseas. Simple but effective._

_I'll admit, I was nervous when the runrig - I'll English-ify it for you - strip farming system was replaced, and land all became one big Enclosure. And, although, as you said, more is being produced, because of these new machines, I can't help but think the poor men are being cheated._

_I'll talk to you soon, no doubt - very soon. Can't wait to ride the new locomotive they're building from Glasgow. Then, we'll be able to rub it in Francis' face that we've got all these new railways! Can you believe how fast they go? And we're the first country ever to get them! Anyway, I'll be at the meeting, so I'll see you then. Stay out of trouble,_

_Cally_

_

* * *

_

The letter was crumpled. The ink was worn away in places. That letter was out of date.

The Corn Laws were gone now. Scrapped. Ireland had been starving - still was. Every day, England feared for his life, although it was quite illogical, as he could not die. But still… England would rather have a healthy brother than profit. If only he could act on his feelings towards his family more...

England opened a drawer and deposited the letter into it after reading it over. And then, the door was knocked upon. "_Salut_, King Coal!" A voice shouted at England. England recognising it, felt his heart sink. "Ah, frog. Why are you on my land?"

"I came to visit Queen Coal!" Queen Coal? Ah, he must mean Scotland.

"Just go up North until you reach the place with sixteen-year old runaways gathering. That's Gretna Green, and you're there. Now go away."

"You're being unusually polite today. I shall see you soon."

"I hope not." Footsteps retreated from the door, and soon, England was back at his work. "King Coal…" What a nickname for the family.

England smiled. To think, how much coal was being produced in them compared to the rest of the world. How much steel. It would have made him so proud… apart from one thing.

* * *

Explosions. Mine damp reacting with flickering candle-light, injuring and killing miners. Deaths. Disasters. Floods… people trapped as water poured in from above. Fires. Choking to death in the darkness.

The coalmines. Entire families had worked underground, the fathers hewing away at the lowest levels, dragging out the coal for the mothers to carry all the way to the surface. The children. Trappers, they were called. Opening and closing doors to let air circulate. He'd heard horror stories of the cramped conditions, pitch-black. Carts full to the brim with the substance running over little legs, little arms.

But, that had changed with the new laws he had drafted. Women and children under ten forbidden to go down… of course, more would have to be done, but…

The Coal Mining Act of 1842. Not a flashy name, by any manner or means, but…

…it was a start, wasn't it? Even if he had to continue working for one hundred years, until the mines were as safe as possible, he would not stop suggesting legislation after legislation to his government.

A change. Wasn't that what this era was all about? Changing. Society was changing, probably faster than England could keep up with.

He sincerely hoped it was for the better.

Now to try and sort out the terrible housing… he sighed deeply. Problem after problem, disease after disease…

Cholera. T.B. Typhus… the list went on.

Weren't they saying now, though, that it was a plant directed form of cholera that had attacked Ireland's potatoes…?

* * *

Several Years Beforehand

"_Paddy…? Are you alright? I've been meaning to see you, but they wouldn't… oh God…"A severely emancipated Ireland smiled unemotionlesslly at his mainland siblings. _

_"I hear you need some railways built. Maybe I could do that…"_

"_Paddy, are you sure you're in a condition to work? I mean… there's already navigators working on it from over here." Scotland said, hesitant, staring at the unnatural thinness of his grabbed her shoulder, staring pleadingly into her eyes. "I need the work, I need it, they need it! I'm fine, we can work, any wage'll do, just give us something… just let my people… we'll make those railways, just let me work…"_

"_Brother…" England murmured. _

_

* * *

_

Navigators, or as they were commonly known, "Navvies". The builders of the railway tracks, the canals, all those sort of things. Ireland's job, for the time being. From all over Britain, they came, and especially from the famine-struck west.

There was the question of what trains to use for the tracks they built, of course. A competition was set up in Rainhill - in England's North-West. The prize, £500 for the winner.

Several trains had been tried, and to be perfectly honest, England was getting bored. When could he go home? He was told, sharply, that he had to stay for all trains.

A train was being set up on the track. England sighed. What was this one again? Oh yes, the "Rocket". According to the excited man beside him, it had been made by his "dear friend", George Stephenson.

Stephenson's Rocket. Well, England thought to himself, let's see if it lives up to the name, shall we?

…

…

…well he was dashed…

Yes, he supposed it was quite fast, after all…

* * *

England's eylids flickered open groggily, to a distant shouting.

"Oh God…" he sighed… "who is it now…?" And then he listened, ears keen to pick out what the voices were saying. The first thing he noticed, actually, was that the voices were all feminine. Hm. The indistinct muttering grew steadily until the chant became clear.

"Votes For Women! Votes For Women! Votes For Women! Votes For Women! Votes For Women! Votes For Women! Votes For Women!"

England hid under the quilt of his bed, and only emerged when there was a polite knocking on his door. "Sir Kirkland?"

"Yes? What is it?"

"I… regret to inform you of this, sir… but, there seems to be a lady attached by chains to the railings in front of the house, sir. I believe it to be Lady Caledonia."

"Oh God… get rid of her, will you?"

"I'm afraid those who might be able to do so are indisposed at the current moment, sir."

"Just because they're scared of her! Oh, I'll do it myself." He opened his bedroom window.

"Cally! Unchain yourself now, or-" He was cut off, and the chant continued, louder than ever. England came back in, mud splattered over his face and a peevish expression firmly in place.

"That showed her, what?"

"Indeed sir. If you would permit me to tell you, sir, Lady Gwynn is waiting downstairs. She enquires if you would talk to her about the Vote, and such matters."

England was confused. "Lady Gwynn? Oh, if it's one of these Suffragettes, tell her to go… I have a very important letter coming, and I do not wish to be disturbed unless someone brings me news of it. Where is the bally thing?"

The valet coughed apologetically. "I'm afraid to tell you, sir…"

"Oh please don't start sentences with 'I'm afraid'. It makes me nervous."

"Very well, sir… I must inform you, regretfully, that a certain individual, before commiting the act of chaining herself to your railings, commited the heinous act of… pouring acid over the letters on the doorstep... and into several letterboxes - and onto the letter you expected - in an act of defiance against you and the Government, she informed me."

England looked at the man in horror. "Oh my hat! Tea, if you please, I must have tea!"

"I took the liberty of bringing a cup, sir." England snatched the cup and saucer, the teaspoon clattering nervously against the rim.

"Y-you… you really mean that she destroyed my letters?"

"Indeed, saar. After which, she set fire to the remains, and threw them with hefty rocks, through the pantry windows. The maid got quite a shock, but is now considering joining the movement."

"Golly! What thing to do. Caledonia is a sly one - she has gone up quite far in my estimation."

"Indeed, sir."

"Who was this Lady Gwen you were talking about earlier?"

"She is waiting in the hallway, saar."

"Good God, is she a Suffragette?"

"I believe she referred to herself as a Suffra_gist_, saar - a peaceful version of a Suffragette, I am led to believe."

"So she won't throw away my tea, or anything along those lines?"

"Indeed saar."

"Or set fire to my embroidery?"

"No, saar.""Or break the china teacups?"

"No, saar.""Well, by all means - I'll be down in a minute then."

* * *

"There's nobody here!" exclaimed England. "I'm right in front of you, mrawd," muttered Wales, indignantly.

* * *

Omake Gretna Green, the first place across the Border from England to Scotland

"And Papa won't hear of us getting married!" The seventeen year old cried into her lover's shoulder. "And I have to wait for a year!"

"No you don't," Scotland said sympathetically. "Come up to me- I mean, Scotland. You can get married at sixteen."

"R-really?"

"Yes, just over the border, there's a nice place called Gretna Green - they're _used_ to English sixteen year old runaways going up there to get hitched."

"Thank you very much!"

"It's no trouble at all."

And it pissed off England a great deal, thought Scotland as she wandered around Gretna Green, smirking to herself.

"Caledonia. Why are you smirking in that manner?"

Oh dear.

"Oh hello brother! Just frowning at all these *legal* underage marriages!"

"What is this then?" Scotland batted away the pamphlet about Gretna Green and Scottish marriage laws. "I know nothing about those. Ahem."

"You didn't even look at them, and yet you already know nothing?" said England. "Strange."

"I knew instinctively that it was about here. Which I know nothing about."

England looked at her suspiciously and growled.


	17. United, 1603, 1800, 1921

England was what you would call a "stick in the mud". Or, at least, that was how Scotland saw him, as did most of the rest of the world. So it did catch her by surprise when he disappeared that morning.

"…Arthur? Where are ye?" Scotland called down the corridor. She scowled. She didn't want to have to spend 'bonding time' with him either, but it was her King who told her to do it. Now England's King too.

She smiled. Heh heh heh…

* * *

Queen Elizabeth the First. Also known as "The Virgin Queen". She was loved by her subjects (at least they _seemed_ to love her). She was now an old woman of seventy. She was on her deathbed. Her courtiers were waiting for her to die.

"My Queen…" England said. He was by her side, obviously, as she was dying. He was back from a trip overseas.

"Sir Kirkland…" said England's Queen softly. Well, she was dying. It took most of her energy just to get the words out. She was so weak now.

"Please, Your Majesty… who is to be your successor?" asked England. She had no apparent heir, being "The Virgin Queen".

The Queen looked straight at her country. "Who else…?" she said, a brief hint of a smile playing across her face.

"Who else but cousin Scotland?"

England froze in his seat. "Whah?" he said unintelligently. "Whah?" he said again. And then, there was an almighty cry; "WHAT? No, Your Majesty, please reconsider this extremely serious decision!"

The Councillors who gathered around her glared at him for disrupting the peace, but England didn't care. She had to reconsider-!

But it was too late.

"Ahahahahahahahahahahahahaha-" came a voice from outside the creaky door. "Hahahahaaaah!"

England looked at the door apprehensively. As expected, it burst open as there was a triumphant yell of, "That's right laddie! From now on, it's mah Kingdom! Ah've waited," she said, grinning a grin that rivalled Prussia's, "For this moment - for centuries! Aye, ah have!"

The Councillors forgot their previous annoyance and turned their glares to Scotland, who was too happy to care.

"She's not dead yet," said England. "She's going to wake up-" For Elizabeth had fallen into a deep sleep by this time, "-and then she's going to change her mind!"

"Last time I checked your people wanted Jamie." The Councillors balked at this sheer and blatant disrespect for King James VI (of Scotland). Jamie indeed! And yes, England would have been perfectly happy, like his people, if it wasn't for the baggage that came with the new King. Namely, his being Scotland's King first. She would never let him live it down.

"Bad luck," said Scotland as she held her hand out for Elizabeth's ring, which a councillor held, who - too scared not to - gave it to her. She raced to the window - and dropped it out.

The Councillors looked like they were going to faint, but then they heard a faint whinny from down below. A rider?

"Run like the wind!" yelled Scotland, "you know tae give it tae the King!"

Faint hooves clattered off.

* * *

England stormed into the room, then stood up tall and smiled convincingly at his new King. "Your Majesty," he said, bowing.

Similar footsteps raced behind him, and then Scotland walked gracefully into the room. "Your Majesty," she said, curtseying.

Unseen by all there, someone slipped out from behind a tapestry. "Your Majesty…" it said, unheard.

King James VI of Scotland and I of England smiled at his countries. "Lord Kirkland… Lady Kirkland… or, would you rather I called you by your own names…? Ah, and of course, the other Lady Kirkland…"

"Lord Kirkland is perfectly good, your Majesty…" said England. Scotland said much the same thing, and Wales was perfectly happy with her title. They changed their status every half a century or so, to keep under the radar. Sometimes, it would be Sir or Lady, sometimes Lord or Dame… but never plain Mr. or Miss. They had standards.

"Yes, well… I will get to the point. Wales and England are the Kingdom of England…"

Wales glowered. "Not by my own personal choice…" Of course, she said this even quieter than normal, as she was speaking to her King.

"Yes," said England, "The Laws in Wales Acts 1536–1543. I remember them well."

"I hate _Y Deddfau Uno 1536 a 1543_..."

"Well… it has been decided that the Kingdom of Scotland will unify with the existing Kingdom of England," said the King. "to form one Great Kingdom - The Kingdom of Great Britain. The United Kingdom, if you will."

"…Pardon me for asking, Your Majesty…" said England, "but you cannot be serious in this…" Words failed him.

"Please, may I be excused, Your Majesty?" asked Scotland.

"Well, yes, you may. This may take some time to sink in of course…"

Scotland walked gracefully out of the door. "Hath He not made us all in one island?" asked the King. "compassed with one sea and of itself by nature indivisible?"

"No…" said Scotland, "no…"

She walked out of the castle and shoved past the milling people. "No! Dammit! Wait... I can stop this...!"

* * *

Back in the present, Scotland flung open door after door. "Arthur! Ah!" She had noticed something. Was that- a dagger? She walked into the room and saw that the dagger was shoved into a piece of wood through a piece of paper with Arthur's elaborate handwriting written all over it.

* * *

_Caledonia_

_I'm going off to the New World. Sorry to leave you with everything-_

Hah, thought Scotland. Aye, sure he was sorry.

_-but this is urgent. Francis is trying to steal away this land-_

France! Scotland was now scanning the note frantically. Well, if it was to beat France, by all means…!

_-away from me. Please make sure to look after the colonies that we already have._

We? He was taking to this Union idea a wee bit too fast, if you asked Scotland.

_I and my people do not like this Union idea-_

Oh, wait, he didn't.

_-and it was rejected harshly by all those who have heard of it-_

Brilliant!

_-but it is the King. We can't really do much-_

Damn it!

_-but it might just be overturned. I'll see you when I get back._

_Arthur_

_

* * *

_

"So how was the trip?" Scotland snapped when England got off the ship, a year later. "Tell me you beat Francis -that bloody wee backstabber-."

"Indeed. America seemed to prefer me to him," England said. "Is the 'Union of Crowns' still going ahead?"

"Not completely," said Scotland, grinning.

"…Oh well," said England. "That's good enough for the time being. You know that this is all your fault!" he said, suddenly flaring up.

"M-My fault?" said Scotland, taken aback.

"That there's a kind-of Union in the first place - he was your King first!" yelled England.

"Your Queen chose him to succeed her!" Scotland yelled back.

"STILL YOUR KING!" screamed England."STILL YOUR EX-QUEEN!" screamed Scotland - who laughed hesitantly. "Heh… look at the pair of us! Bickering like an old married couple!"

"Well… old - check. Married - there's a bloody Union. Couple - well, there's that one… what's her name again…?" England chuckled.

"Shakespeare's been doing well out of the new King, you know. New play was but on while you were away - terrible travesty."

"Really?" asked England, "how's that?"

"Macbeth wasn't evil." muttered Scotland.

"Pardon?" asked England.

"His new play - the King really doesn't like witches, and it's about that - but it's set to Macbeth's life - but he totally demonised him!"

"What is this play?"

"Well, it's called Macbeth. Or 'The Scottish Play', I should say. Superstitious lot, actors." Scotland scowled at him, mood changing rapidly. "I'm going back up North, if you're not going to sail off out of nowhere again. See you later then."

* * *

The year was 1800. 93 years had passed since the Union. And now, it was time for a new one.

"Lady Kirkland, he has tried to break away several-"

"Make sure he doesn't get away," said Scotland calmly.

The guards dragged in the struggling rebel. He was battered and bruised from fighting. Ireland glared at them.

"Bastards, all of you," said Ireland. "I hate you… all of you…"

"Don't be such an eejit," said Scotland. "Did you even think that it was a good idea to fight? Did you even think? It's only been 24 years!" she said. "He's never recovered from that! And you've just made it worse! You should have seen what you did to him when he heard the word 'Rebellion' And you decide to do it American style! You even allied with France! Eejit…"

"Since when do you care about him? Since when do you care about him more than me? We're the Celtic nations… don't you even remember?"

"I don't care about him more than you, Padraig. As a nation I still hate his guts, but we're united, like it or not. And so are you." she said plainly.

Ireland choked. "Wh-what…?"

"Didn't ye hear in the jail? New Union. The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland."

"No… no you're not…" Ireland attempted to wrench free of his guard.

"Think I'd joke about something like that?" said Scotland, eyes narrowed, trying to distance her emotions from her words. "This is better for you, we're solving the-"

"Cally… come on. You know he's a bastard."

"And you don't think he knows that too? He practically rules the British Empire! He has to be!" she said. "He's still our brother-"

"Brother this! Brother that! We're not a family!" yelled Ireland, "we're the nations! Nations aren't bonded to each other! We manipulate and we ally and we do what we can for ourselves every minute of our lives! There's no familial ties! None of this imaginary love! No proper relationships… just us. On our own. Shoving everyone else out the way to get to the top."

"You don't really believe that…"

"What else can I believe…?" he asked. "After what we've seen…? Don't you remember, Caledonia? All those sweet French nothings he whispered in your ear? His promises? His 'Auld Alliance'? For all his words he made peace with Arthur while he attacked you."

Scotland stared at him. No… he couldn't bring that up.

"And you! You in the corner! When did anybody ever come through for you?" Wales flinched, not used to being addressed. "Agincourt. You fought alongside Arthur, and what did you get for it? Land which should have been yours in the first place!"

"It's a cruel existence we live…" Ireland had stopped there as he was escorted away, but his eyes told that one day his mind would be spoken fully.

"It's such a cruel existence…"

* * *

1921

New Zealand gently pushed the toddler into the grand room.

"It's alright Seamus," he said, "they're alright people." Northern Ireland looked apprehensively at the three nations sitting in luxurious armchairs. One grinned brightly. One's expression was unclear. Another smiled.

"Seamus, is it?" asked Scotland. "Good name, good name… how did you come by it?"New Zealand looked embarrassed. "Hotel… name tag… it seemed native enough... I hope..."

"Another change," mused England, interrupting. "To our Unity. The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland… bit of a mouthful, but it always was since Cally joined…"

* * *

Omake- The Eurovision Song Contest

"Well? Is it actually somebody with a little talent this year?" asked Scotland. "Please. I can't take the other countries mocking anymore."

"It's not you they mock the most," grumbled England, "it's me."

"Well? Is it decent?"

"Have a listen for yourself…" said England, "I'm going to have a little lie down…"

Scotland gingerly picked up the headphones. Ireland wandered in and clasped her shoulder. "Don't worry. Nobody'll vote for you anyway. They never do."

Scotland glared at him as he laughed. "Remember that year when nobody gave you any points? That was funny!"

Scotland sniffed. "It's not my fault they choose bad talent."

"Listen to this year's lot!"

"…I think I'll listen tomorrow…"


	18. St George's Day, 2010

"Happy birthday, Shakespeare…" mumbled England, "happy deathday too. Happy deathday St. George - and happy birthday me. Alone again…"

That one sentence summarised exactly why England didn't appreciate his birthday. Every year he would wake up and think 'Shakespeare was born, and died on this day'. It normally took several minutes before he realised that it was also his birthday as well, and by that time his mood was usually ruined. Why did he remember the playwright before himself? He was just that kind of masochistic person who broods over death and despair.

"Arthur!" came a yell from outside England's room suddenly and unexpectedly. England looked sleepily over at the window. "Alfred, you sodding git…" he said, and fell back onto his bed, being tired, after all.

"Arthuuuuuur!"

"Bleedin' tosser," mumbled Arthur, sleep calling him. "Go away."

He briefly wondered why he was so tired. Had somebody slipped him something in his tea last night?

America leapt in through the window of the room. "Iggyyyyyyyyyy!"

Irritated, England opened an eye to look balefully at his husband. "Go away, Septic." He didn't know that he'd slipped into Cockney, and he didn't care, he was so tired.

"They warned me you'd be like this," said America, undeterred by England's morning mood.

"They? If Cally, Seamus, Paddy or indeed, Gwynn, has done something to me," said England, who remembered Wales when his mind was blurry, "Do tell me, so I can murder them."

"No, I don't think they've done anything," said America. "You're just tired." Damn brat. Why did he have to look and sound so calm and grown-up about England's state when he was the bloody reason that England had been awakened? (England chose to forget that he had woken up before he had heard America.)

England growled and America laughed, slipping into the bed. "Take your bloody Rhythm and Blues off before getting in!" snapped England. "And your Nanny Goat too!" he added, "For good measure."

"…Eh?" asked America. "Sorry… didn't get that."

"Strawberry Split," said England. "Do as I say…" his voice faded away as he fell asleep again.

"…Happy Birthday…" said America.

"Thank you," said England. America looked at him and grinned.

**Rhythm and Blues - Shoes**

**Nanny Goat - Coat**

**Strawberry Split - Git**


	19. Gwynn's Typical Day, 1750

Wales woke up that day feeling great. Yes. Today would be a good day, she thought optimistically.

She practically jumped out of her bed and very nearly skipped to the door. As it was, she walked with a spring in her step. Yesterday she had found out the most brilliant thing she had ever found out. A new nation had been added to the Empire (which wasn't that good) but the nation in question was invisible.

Yes. Somebody to finally notice her. The thought made her laugh in joy! A kid she could look after who didn't scream for England, telling him tearfully that a ghost was touching them.

Being invisible was fine to plant ideas in people's heads, but she needed somebody to notice her.

* * *

A couple of decades earlier

England held America in his arms, rocking the infant nation to sleep.

"Hm," he said thoughtfully. "I really should name you, shouldn't I, America?" America didn't answer, being asleep by this time.

"Alfred…? Like Alfred the Great himself? It's a good name, and a man to look up to," said England half to America, half to himself. "And as for a second name… well… Kirkland, maybe? After all, nobody said you couldn't give them your own second name…"

"That would be a bad idea, brother," said Wales, sitting in an armchair, unnoticed. "Everybody would pick up on it and torment you." Not that she would mind that, but if people mistook her for England, he might as well have a good reputation.

"No. Everybody would pick up on it and torment me and you," said England, mistaking Wales' quiet voice for his inner one.

"What about Jones? It's a good (Welsh) name," suggested Wales.

"I'm not sure why… but the fairies always told me to trust my inner voice… Jones. Yes, Jones. Alfred Jones… Jones."

"Even better, give him "Fairy" as a middle name," said Wales sarcastically.

"Very well, inner voice. Alfred Fairy Jones."

"Wait, Ididn'tmeanthaaaat!"

* * *

She was glad that England had never told America what his true middle name was. She remembered that incident with a blush while making a nice pot of tea. She poured the scalding liquid into a china teacup, then flung open the cupboard to find a tray. Finding one with a pattern of unicorns prancing around the edge, she placed the tea down onto it.

She walked across the landing and up a small staircase, crossing the corridor and - careful not to shake the precious liquid too much - grabbed the handle of the door to England's study. It creaked open slowly, and Wales peeked in.

There was England, asleep at his desk. Wales walked in and placed the tea tray carefully on the table and quietly walked back out. There was usually a human who took England his morning tea, but she had died of tuberculosis earlier that month, and England hadn't got around to replacing her. There was no point in feeling sad for too long - all humans died.

Wales slipped around the house, opening the curtains, as that human had done too. She heard numerous groans as little colonies who had been visiting complained about the sudden burst of sunlight pouring onto their heads.

Unnoticed by their suddenly blinded eyes, Wales finished her rounds and went to the sitting room. Scotland had been there the previous day, and England got very hard to live with if he found thistles, scraps of tartan, shortbread crumbs or anything she might have dropped on the floor or hidden in corners.

Wales wiped her forehead and sighed happily. The work was done.

Now to find that child.

* * *

A few days later, Wales was troubled. She couldn't see hide or hair of the colony. She was disheartened. Maybe… she couldn't see him. Was she just like the rest of them, looking straight at him and not seeing him? If so, she would never complain about being invisible again.

A few months passed. Wales did all her menial tasks, practicing magic and hoping to find the child. Yet, as the weeks passed her searches grew shorter and the effort she put into them lesser. Carrying another tea tray - this one with a garish and brightly coloured Union Jack adorning it - she wandered down a corridor towards England's study. He couldn't get it himself, could he?

"Ugh," she said in a tone of disgust. She now had a lovely pattern of red and blue adorning her right hand - and left hand, she discovered soon afterwards as she swapped the hand holding the tray. Shoddy work that tea tray, shoddy work indeed. To think that England's standards had fallen so. Even if he hadn't known about the terrible quality of paint, why would he pick such a crudely drawn flag in such horrid shades? It was an eyesore.

In a significantly worse mood than before, Wales quickened her pace. The sooner she could abandon that tray on England's desk, the better. Hopefully it would stain his precious mahogany desk in the process, and _his _hands.

She marched up to the door, and was about to barge in when suddenly, she could hear voices coming from behind England's study door - which was already ajar. England's own high-and-mighty upper-class accent which he used for important events and colonies, and the high-pitched drawl of a child - America, it had to be. Colonies were not allowed into England's private quarters, but America always managed to slip under the radar. He had his own rules when it came to her older brother.

"Iggy!" came the obnoxious voice again. Yes, it was obnoxious. The brat had once thrown tea on her while proclaiming that he hated the heavenly brew. She didn't care if he hadn't seen her, she still had the burn marks. It wouldn't surprise her in the slightest if one day in the future, he would destroy… say… a ship-full of the delicious substance. No doubt by throwing it into sea-water. And yes, she adored tea. It wasn't only her brother who liked it, after all.

"Alfred! Don't climb on me! I'm trying to write this- Alfred!"The name had stuck like a potent glue. Wales prayed every day that her brother would never inform America of the true middle name that "F." stood for. But… the reaction would be amusing to see. The foolish young boy proclaimed day in and day out that the fey folk were not real. What a fool, thought Wales. The fey folk were very real, and didn't throw boiling substances at people who had done nothing to them. Nothing, she thought bitterly, but the utmost respect and consideration.

The pain and burning had _hurt_, damn it.

England seemed to have given up, and was moving on to a different topic. "My older sister is coming today, so be on your best behaviour today, and show her how well you can behave, all right, Alfred?" England said seriously.

Wales carefully placed the tray of doom onto the floor and peeked around the door - not that she needed to be careful, but it was a force of habit. Scotland was coming? "OK Iggy!" said America, grinning broadly.

England smiled softly. "I'm trusting you, Alfred."

"A hero never betrays trust!" pronounced America proudly.

"All right, Alfred," said England, patting America's head. "She should be here any minute." England stood up, depositing America on the floor.

America's blue eyes were wide and a grin was spread across his face. "Iggy trusts me!" he said happily.

Wales snorted. America shot up and looked around wildly. "It's a ghoooooooost!" he whimpered. "Leave me alone! And don't touch Iggy either!"

"My, what valour."

America covered his head and made moaning noises. "It really is a ghost," he whimpered.

Awkwardly, Wales tiptoed out. She hadn't know that she inspired such terror in the heart of America…

* * *

"Hi!" said Scotland, cheerfully. "How're you getting on?"

"I'm fine… the usual, really…" said Wales. "How have you been?"

"Ach, I'm fine! Arthur been annoying?"

Wales nodded and said, "…Yes…" unnecessarily.

Scotland laughed. "Aye, that sounds about right. Ah so, I've been looking after this bairn…" she added. "One of the colonies."

"…England let you take a colony…? Why…? How? He's funny about anybody even looking at them…"

"Well, you see, he doesn't really… know… about me taking him…"

Wales sighed and shook her head. "You've got a death wish…"

"Matthew! Come and say hello tae Gwen!"

"For the last time, my name is Gwynn, not Gwen." Wales looked down at the child who had crept out from behind Scotland, who looked shyly up at her.

"Hello," it said.

Wait a goddamn minute.

"How did you sneak him past brother…?"

"Well, you see, for some reason he can't see him… and no-one else can except me - and you apparently. Just like you, I guess!"

"I spent weeks searching for that kid… and you had him the whole time…" Wales sighed and let it go. After all, she was used to things like this happening. She drifted out of the way as a little blond boy rushed at Canada screaming about a ghost. Scotland would defend him better than she could, after all.

* * *

Omake

"Iggy…!" the little colony traipsed through the house nervously. "Iggyyyyyyyy!" In one hand - one messy pinkish-blue hand - he held a tea tray.

"Alfred? What is it?" asked England who had anxiously come to see what the matter was.

"I made you something…" said America. "Here."

"A… tray? With the Union Flag…" England smiled. "Thank you, Alfred." He lifted the tray up.

America ran away, smiling.

"Oh…" said England, realising the new pattern had imprinted itself on his gloves. "Oh well," he muttered, thankful that he had worn his third-favourite pair of gloves today and not his second, as he had nearly done. Well, after a good wash, they could be his fifth-favourite.

"At least one of them doesn't despise me."


	20. Training Canada, 1746

**Written for Rhio-bob's b-day! Sorry it's so late… but better late than never, I guess. **

**

* * *

**

It was extremely cold, the winter over in Canada. Snow fluttered down onto the always green evergreen trees. Snow fluttered down onto two heads - one was ginger and one was blond.

Canada stood, looking at Scotland, still not entirely sure why she had brought him back to his house. He was still not quite sure about the woman. He knew little, aside from the fact that she was Scotland, and therefore England's northern sister. A few decades ago, she had taken him away from England's mansion in England's west and taken him back to live with her in her highlands. She'd just taken him back to himself yesterday.

But aside from that, that was all he knew about her.

* * *

_Slim, elegant fingers traced around the blue onto the patches of green. Wide blue eyes followed the older pair as they flicked around the slightly-crumpled piece of paper. _

"_Oui, Mathieu," breathed the owner of the older eyes, "Cet homme est __**l'Angleterre**__ - il nom est __**Arthur**__. Il a un frère et une soeur. __**L'Écosse**__ est au Nord de l'Angleterre. Elle s'appelle __**Calédonie**__. Elle est jolie, oui. Et à travers la mer, il y a __**l'Irlande**__, qui s'appelle __**Patrice**__. D'accord, Mathieu?"_

_France folded the map in two. He gave it to Canada, smiling gently. Canada took the map - the basic family portrait. _

"_Merci, Papa," he said shyly. France's smile grew slightly wider as he tottered off, unfolding the map as he went. _

"_De rien." _

_

* * *

_

Scotland was looking around. After a while, she looked down at the little colony.

"Nice place," she said, with no hint of sarcasm. Canada looked away, saying nothing in reply but a nervous "_merci_". Scotland tore her eyes from the moose that was eating slowly and lazily about forty yards away and focused instead on the French-speaking child.

"Right, Matthew. I'm going tae teach you how tae fight. You'll need it, trust me. Times like these, there's no time to learn stuff on your own. Not like back in the day. You used to have at least a few decades before you got _really_ nasty trouble coming your way." Like France maybe coming back, or someone else deciding that they wanted some North American soil. Not that it was likely to happen now. Still, you couldn't be too prepared now, could you? Times like these.

"Yes?" said Canada as Scotland held out a weapon that she had been holding.

"This is a musket." Canada reached out and took it. "It's not loaded, but still, be _careful_ with it."

"_Canada! Ne pas toucher. C'est vraiment dangereux." France snatched away the musket. "Ne pas toucher…"_

Scotland prised it out of his hands, loaded it and aimed.

"To fire, you pull the trigger." She demonstrated this, hitting the maple tree she had been pointing her weapon at. Sap oozed out slowly from the bullet hole.

Canada flinched.

"Why don't you try?"

"Eh?"

"That's what I brought this here for. I said, didn't I? You've got tae stay on top tae not get crushed. That's how it always works…" she muttered the last phrase, so Canada almost didn't hear it.

"_Ne pas toucher, Canada_…" He's not coming back.

Canada held out both hands for the gun.

* * *

"_Driftwood is burning blue… wild walk the wall shadows_…"

Canada curled up into a ball in his bed, listening. "_Night winds go riding by, riding by, the lochie meadows_…_ onto the ring of day_…"

He could feel himself growing sleepier and sleepier. Scotland really hoped the kid would fall asleep soon. "_Flows Mira's stream_…_ singing_…_ Caidil gu la, laddie_…_ la laddie… sleep the stars away_…"

Canada's eyes closed: a good sign of impending sleep. "_Far on Beinn Breagh's side wander the lost lambies_…_ hear there and everywhere_…_ everywhere_…_ their troubled mammies_…"

Scotland risked moving slightly, but then she hesitated as the blond-haired child turned over. Was that good or bad? "_Find them and fold them deep; fold them to sleep, singing_…_ caidil gu la laddie, la laddie, sleep the moon away_…"

Her voice trailed away. Canada hadn't moved again. Ah, he was probably asleep now. That was good. She really had to get back to Britain. England didn't know she was gone after all. She'd better pack the few things she had brought. She headed for the door.

"The rest…?" She froze as the small voice spoke.

"There's… more… isn't there…?" said Canada. The red-haired woman whipped back around. Canada was still facing away from her, but he sounded very awake. "People… sing it… and I've heard… that there's another bit…"

"Th- I thought you'd gone to sleep." Scotland folded her arms. "You looked like you were."

Silence. And then, "There's more…" Canada insisted, turning back over. "There is…"

He wasn't going to let it go, Scotland realised. "Shh…" she whispered. She went back to her crude wooden chair and sat back down in it. "…_Daddy_…_ is on the bay_…" she started, knowing very well why she had tried to avoid the third verse.

"_He'll keep the pot brewin'_…_ keep all from tumblin' down_…_ tumblin' down_…_ to rack and ruin; pray, Mary_…_ send him home, safe from the foam_… _singing_…"

She stopped at the sniff. The draw in of breath. The quiet choke of holding back. "Matthew?"Another choke. She could feel the quiet desperation of one trying to remain dignified and knowing they were about to fail. That mounting terror of weakness being seen.

"_Just cry, brat!" snapped the young Scotland, at the end of her patience. "I can tell you're going to! There's no use in holding it in, Sassenach." England refused to remove the hand from his eyes. His chin strained from effort. _

"_I'm not! Stupid, stupid, stupid!" the boy choked. "Stupid Alba!"_

_And then the tears spilled down his cheeks as he sobbed._

_

* * *

_

"Matthew…"

"What?" asked the boy quietly.

"Please don't cry…"

"I'm not." Scotland was reminded of a similar situation with her brother. She opened her arms. Canada looked over shyly, eyes glistening, then he bounced up and hugged Scotland tightly.

"Papa…" he said. "Papa's not coming… back." He hid his face.

"Shh… it's going tae be alright, laddie. Shh… there's a good lad."

Canada's sobs quietened down. Scotland put him back down into the bed and tucked him in, singing, "_Caidil gu la laddie_…_ la laddie_…"

Canada, who was very tired, fell asleep quickly. Scotland hovered about for a little while before leaving the room. She picked up and then hid a long thin object in a dark corner, covering it with a cloth.

She blinked sleepily, before smiling slightly.

"_Sleep the dark away_."

* * *

"_Oui, Mathieu," _

"Yes, _Mathieu_,"

"_Cet homme est __**l'Angleterre**__ - il nom est __**Arthur**__. Il a un frère et une soeur. __**L'Écosse**__ est au Nord de l'Angleterre. Elle s'appelle __**Calédonie**__. Elle est jolie, oui. Et à travers la mer, il y a __**l'Irlande**__, qui s'appelle __**Patrice**__. D'accord, Mathieu?"_

"This man is **England** - his name is **Arthur**. He has a brother and a sister. **Scotland** is to the north of England. Her name is **Calédonie**. She is pretty, yes. And across the sea, there is **Ireland**, who is called **Patrice**. OK, Mathieu?"

"_De rien."_

"It's nothing."

"_Ne pas toucher!"_

"Don't touch!"

"_Caidil gu la laddie"_

"Sleep (on) until day."

Omake

Little Canada was drifting through the air - it was cold and crisp. Just like home.

He would have to go home in a few days. He had been away from it, staying with England then Scotland for a few months. It wasn't healthy, and Scotland was talking about taking him over herself. He floated and enjoyed the feel of himself.

All of a sudden, a feeling of terror swept his mind and the sky turned darker and stormier. Red hair of a beard twisted and wrapped around him. Canada screamed and panicked as a giant face loomed in the distance. Scotland laughed a booming, creepy laugh. "HA HA HAAAH!" Her face was almost covered by a bushy red beard.

"AAAAAHHHH!" screamed Canada.

"Matthew! Matthew are you alright! Matthew!" A voice broke through his dream state. His eyes snapped open, and he saw a - beardless - Scotland. Nevertheless, his nightmare had traumatised him, and so he did what would be expected.

"AAAAHHHH!"

"Don't scream in my face! My ears!"

Canada's breathing returned to normal. "A… Are you all right?"

"I-I'm fine. You don't have a beard." He smiled up at her.

"Wh-what? A beard? I don't have a beard…!" Scotland stroked her cheeks nervously. "I don't…!"

"You don't…"

"I'm going to get a mirror!" said Scotland, panicking now.

"You don't… it was a…" But she was gone.


	21. Memoir II, The Auld Alliance, 1295:1548

_The Auld Alliance was an alliance between France and Scotland. Both France and Scotland needed a friend who didn't want England to expand. _

_Scotland had asked England's boss to help her pick a new king after her old king had been killed in an accident and his Norwegian heir had died before she could be crowned. England's boss had taken this chance to take over Scotland and install a puppet king. _

_England was always fighting with France. England decided to invade France in 1295 with the help of Scotland (and Wales)._

_But Scotland didn't want to fight with France and instead she allied with him. _

**THE AULD ALLIANCE, 1295**

**

* * *

**

"Ecosse? You want to ally with me… against _ton petit frere_?"

"Aye. He snapped my last nerve ages ago."

"_C'est chouette_!" France grinned. "I can make it official this evening, if you like!"

* * *

_Scotland had helped France a couple of times to rebel and invade England in the past, so France thought; _

"_She would be a useful ally against England!"_

_England was really angry about this: "Those gits!" he thought. He immediately set about attacking Scotland._

**THE WARS OF SCOTTISH INDEPENDENCE (ONE OF THE SEVERAL)**

_He took over in no time, and had control of Scotland. Her puppet king was exiled to Rome and never tried to come back, leaving her without a monarch and under the complete control of England. _

_After several attempts (see chapter 5) Scotland eventually got independence from England. Her new king had been kicked out of the Church after England complained to the Vatican. The Pope had agreed that Scotland was controlled by England, so she sent a letter called;_

**THE DECLARATION OF ARBROATH, 1320**

_Which Scotland is __**CONVINCED**__ that it was later used as a template by America for his Declaration of Independence. Ahem. The Declaration declared that Scotland was independent and not part of England. _

_Moving on, the Auld Alliance was invoked several times during the 14th__ century, mainly during __**THE HUNDRED YEARS' WAR **__between England and France. _

_

* * *

_

**AGINCOURT, 1415**

"Keep firing the arrows, Gwynn!" yelled England.

"_Ie, ie, mrawd_…" muttered Wales. "_AWRON_!" she yelled. "NOW!"

A cloud of arrows shot up and fell towards the French.

"_Merde, merde, merde_!"

* * *

_A notable occasion in which French and Scottish forces actually won together was __**THE BATTLE OF BAUGÉ, **__which was the turning point of the Hundred Years' War, much to England's annoyance._

_

* * *

_

**BATTLE OF BAUGÉ, 1421**

"Yay! We won!" giggled France.

England lifted his head slightly off the ground, groaning. He glared through his swollen eyes. "G…Gr… You… fu…"

Scotland winked at her little brother. "Don't be a sore loser, wee one!" England flinched as she stroked his head his head, nails dragging through his hair. England gasped in pain as he felt the scratches pass over cuts.

France still was celebrating with his "We won!" session. Scotland laughed easily. Like all victories it was short and sweet.

* * *

**BATTLE OF CRAVANT, 1423**

"Run? I'm not running away! I didn't ally with you to run!"

"See sense, Ecosse! We've got to withdraw!" France pointed over to where England was wading through a marshy river. "There's no way we'll win this, we've got to go!"

"You go. I'll stay! I refuse to withdraw!" yelled Scotland.

"_Tu baise l'idiot_!" France hissed at her. "You'll all die!"

"I- what the hell are you doing! Let go!"

"You'll get captured, and then everything for you shall be over. Do you want that?"

"I'll fight to the end, with my men," replied Scotland coolly. France let go of her impatiently.

"Then do," France hissed, out of patience. "_Retraite_!" he yelled to his men, and one more time asked his ally. "Come with me, and we'll win, I promise. Just not today… win a battle we can win, retreat to fight again! _S'il te plaît_?" he begged.

"_Chan eil_." said Scotland firmly. "No, I won't."

Grit of teeth, hardening of resolve. "_Au revoir, ma amie_," said France coldly. He stalked away quickly just as the England walked out of the other side of the bog.

"Ecosse, you're alive!" The statement was one of surprise. The Scottish section of the army had been decimated.

"Aye," said Scotland wearily. "Ready to fight again, whenever."

* * *

**BATTLE OF VERNEUIL, 1424**

"Run, you fuckin' idiot! Run!" Scotland was cut off as she parried another sword. "God's sake, Francis, go, dammit!"

"We've been here before, Ecosse!" France knew the general etiquette of not leaving a lady to fend for herself - especially on the losing side of a battle. He'd done it once before, and really didn't want to have to do it again. "You survived… I guess I can too."

"I'm sorry! I led you into this, and it was a trap, I'm so-" stabbing and slashing "-sorry, it's my fault…but if you don't go, they'll win everything! They'll win you, you're the guy they want, not me! I'll have held them off for nothing, don't you get- fuck!" The unfortunate English soldier who had stabbed at her was dispatched. "Run…! Just get out of here, I'll stop them from-"France, turned and ran, taking the lifeline gratefully. Only once he looked back at the fray… Scotland had disappeared among the throng of Englishmen.

"_Desolé_…"

* * *

_Scotland gave France valuable breathing space, effectively saving him from being completely overrun by her little brother. However, her army was annihilated. The "Army of Scotland" was honoured by France's boss at the time, King Charles II, who regretted the losses suffered by Scotland fighting for France. _

_

* * *

_

**Orléans, 1429**

A horse danced about nervously. The woman on its back patted its shoulder comfortingly.

"Jeanne! Jeanne! Jeanne!"

The peasant girl smiled, her eyes light and shining. She had saved this city! Her first major victory over the English.

France smiled gently at her, lovingly. "Jeanne, you saved Orléans. _Merci, ma amie_."

She smiled back to him. "_Merci, France_."

"Thanks for saving a city of this idiot for me."

Jeanne jumped at the voice. "_C'est vous_!"

"Jeanne… you know her?" France said quietly in French.

"_Oui_… she helped me, during the fighting! Out of nowhere, from among the Scots who came… I didn't know there were other women fighters. Everyone was so… angry, I guess… when I fight…"

"_Ecosse_, thank you for coming to the aid of Orléans too…" said France, answering the unasked question.

"_Ah_!" Jeanne got it. Scotland grinned. "Couldn't help but want to see her with my own two eyes. In't that just uncanny… a saviour from amongst your commoners… everything's going to be okay now that a fighter has come to free you."

Jeanne shifted uncomfortably. Scotland's voice was turning… bitter? There was some history here, Jeanne knew it, but… what? France glared daggers at Scotland. The unspoken message was "shut up, shut up, shut up!"

His spoken words weren't as harsh. "_Oui_. Jeanne shall save me from _Angleterre_."

A rueful grin. "Save you from England, huh?"

"_Ferme ta bouche_!" Jeanne quickly turned around to France, shocked at the sudden mood whiplash. "It's not like how it was with you, _Ecosse_," France growled.

"I didn't say anything!" snapped Scotland, slightly shocked at the mood whiplash too. Jeanne meant that much to him, huh?

"_France… Ecosse_…?"

"Sorry, miss," said Scotland before France could apologise. "Merely some old memories of someone who was like you are to France, but for me. Didn't go so well," she added, before France could stop her. "But you'll do fine I bet."

She knelt down on one knee in front of the Jeanne's horse. "I will help you beat England up if you'll let me. I've guarded your royalty and nation before, so let me guard you."

"_Merci, Ecosse_!" said Jeanne, getting off the horse. "_Merci_!"

France looked between the two females, nation and human. The nation, still kneeling down on the one knee took Jeanne's hand and kissed it. France's eyebrows furrowed slightly.

"It's my pleasure, Joan." A grin was sent towards the girl.

* * *

_**Le Garde Écossaise**__, or the Scots Guard were the lifeguards of French royalty. An elite unit, they were founded to be the personal bodyguards of the French monarchy, and it was all comprised of Scots as the title would suggest. They were disbanded in 1791_

_Scotland took this to mean that she had to protect France too, becoming his bodyguard on several occasions, a few of them to the annoyance of France, as she saw daggers and poison in the cutest and most innocent young ladies and gentlemen that France had an eye on. Nothing to do with jealously. _

_But back to the history - I-_

No, dammit!

_But back to the history - Scotland-_

_

* * *

_

"Don't get attached. It's for your protection, Francis. She'll die one day anyway, she's not like-"

"How dare you! Just because you're one of my allies doesn't mean you can interfere in my life, Ecosse."

"I'm just saying that it'll happen sooner or later," mumbled Scotland. "And it hurts and I don't want anyone else to feel that terrible…"

France wasn't listening. "Enough, _Ecosse_, you're trying to help me, _oui_, I get that. That would be noble of you if I wanted your advice."

_Harsh much? _Thought Scotland.

"Leave me and Jeanne be. Protect her, please do protect her, but stay out of our feelings. You're hardly one who knows much about these matters."This was one of the things about France that Scotland hated. He was so fucking condescending when it came to her knowledge of relationships. Hell, he more condescending than England could get sometimes and that was saying something.

"Don't come crying to me, France."

* * *

_It's well known what happened to France's hope. Just like what happened to Scotland's. _

_

* * *

_**1548**

"I said no!" said Scotland.

"Caledonia Kirkland, you promised me!" said England. He wondered what it was that made them go at each others' throats every time they met. Was it fate?

"You think I can't see a takeover bid when I see one?" snapped Scotland. "I said no. Can't you get that into your head? You're going to war over nothing!"

"_Him_," stated England, tone conveying everything that wasn't said.

"…What's wrong with Francis?"

England scoffed at her. "Come now. You know as well as I do what is wrong with the frog."

"Arthur, our royal families are all mixed up _as it is _just now. The _bairn_'s grandfather married one of your lot anyway, that's only three generations back! Or don't you remember?"

"I'm not talking about… James the… the…"

"IV. James IV. Wee Mary's grandfather." Scotland nearly got mixed up between all the kings named James too, but she would never admit that, especially to England.

"Blast it, all the James's just come one after the other - how am I supposed to remember which one's which - anyway, that's not the bloody point. When you renewed the alliance between yourself and the frog with that match between your current king and that _Frenchwoman_, I was perturbed, yet I thought you would be reasonable about any offspring there would be."

"Away wie you, you thought no such thing."

"The child shall marry Edward!" yelled England. "They're fucking betrothed already! You promised!"

* * *

_Edward was the heir to the English throne. Scotland had promised her heir to be married to him because she had been in a bad position then back when the treaty was signed._

_

* * *

_

"You invaded! It's an outrage! I said no, mean no, Francis is gettin' the _bairn_! To think I was thinking about following the treaty through for some time there. Then you decided to just go to war over it. It's your own fault that I-"

"Treaties are made to be followed! Where is she?"

Scotland grinned. She'd stalled long enough for the ship to sail. "Francis's house. I was about to say, it's your own fault I went to Francis's ambassador for help."

"Oh for the love of-"

* * *

_Years passed. Mary was over in France's house, getting educated and was going to be married to Francis's Dauphin, the heir to the French throne. So technically, Mary was the Scottish Queen (she'd been crowned when she was nine months old) was going to be the French Queen when she married the Dauphin and when his father died…_

…_and also, some regarded her as the rightful Queen of England, which pissed off Arthur and his Queen Elizabeth._

_

* * *

_

"…Excuse me," said a voice that could only belong to royalty. Scotland turned around to see the boat which had docked. The hell? Who was- oh dear.

"W-what the- I mean, your majesty. It's an honour to see you once again. I hope your time in Franci- France was nice?

""Lovely… I think some dates have been mixed…"

* * *

_Poor queen. First time she'd come home in years and nobody was there to greet her. The dates got mixed up and instead of crowds she got a few people._

_

* * *

_

"Awfully sorry about that your majesty." Scotland hit herself mentally for sounding so much like that wee twit England.

"You're… like him, aren't you?" said the Queen. "Like Sir Bonnefoy…"

"…He told you about that, then… your majesty."

"Yes."

"Yes, I am."

* * *

_She was executed too, later, in England. That happens a lot, no? _

_

* * *

_

Scotland threw away the pen and smacked her forehead.

"This is going nowhere dammit! Memoirs are so fucking hard when you're a fucking country! I keep just remembering things that I can't put into words! Everything's all over the place! Missing out everything!" She sighed and glared at the fire. "I… think I'll write more… later…"

Stuff that's not just about France.


	22. The Darien Scheme Disaster 1690:1707

"Hah…" said Scotland, grinning at England, too happy to get angry at him for anything. "Here's to the King!"

"Cheers!" toasted England, also too happy to get pissed at her. Their tankards clunked together, the respective whisky and ale jumping out of their containers.

"Ah," said Scotland, between a sip of whiskey. "That was _close_."

"Thank God the King's seen sense. I mean, the "personal" union can't be helped, seeing as how he's not likely to give up being my King, but no "political" unions." England grinned happily.

"Ah, to life at the edge," said Scotland.

"I'd be quite happy for one comfortably in the middle, ta much."

"Glad you're both so happy," muttered Ireland, who had come along at the mention of alcohol, which overrode his annoyance towards the country who was ignoring the fact that he was part of the _personal_ Commonwealth union too, and had been for near half-a-bloody-century. Or was it nearer to a century…? This stuff was strong…

* * *

Of course, as usual, Anglo-Scottish relations broke down as soon as they got drunk. Usually, the conditions had already broken down by that time.

"The hell, Artie?" spat Scotland. "Ye own the Western Seaboard! Ye're tryin' tae kill me. Why the hell can't I trade wie ye're colonies?"

"Bloody 'ell woman! Stop complaining about it!" Ireland studied the dingy interior of the pub.

"I'll get myself a colony then!" Scotland said with a triumphant smile.

"Good luck with that." A secret smile informed England's still semi-coherent mind that something was wrong. She had something in mind…? Seriously? But then he passed out, and promptly forgot about it.

* * *

"Heh heh heh… this is perfect!"

"Perfect, Lady Kirkland…?"

Scotland's fist slammed down on the map. "See," she said, pointing majestically to the very north most point of the South American continent.

"Panamá…" read one of the company. "Doesn't that belong to Spain?"

"…This bit of land here-" said she, stabbing the paper with the tip of her nail, "was recommended by a sailor -who came to the government with an idea…"

"But-"

"Listen to me." Everybody listened. "You know what's happening. Or, at least you've heard about it. We - this country - is going under. It's true - think of what's happening just now with the lower classes."

"The crop failures… seven years of crop failures…" a well-informed gentleman murmured softly.

"Aye, and the civil wars… the decades of war," agreed Scotland. "Home grown businesses are withering, England's wars with the Continent are _weakening our position_. But look at Europe. Look at them! And look at their Empires, their trade - their fortunes are being made. Unknown land is being collected by the same countries - it's time we made our entrance into the business. We're not allowed to trade with English colonies? We'll take our own!" Applause followed the statement.

"Panama's location is essential to the success. Look-" she tapped the map "-at its location. Above North America is a frozen wasteland. Below South America is Cape Horn." She drew their attention to the spot. "Months are lost on sea journeys by heading around here, many ships are lost to the dangerous waters there. However!"

She paused for dramatic effect. A voice chimed in.

"Of course… I _see_…"

"Aye. Building a canal across Panama - tae be more specific, here, the Darién Gap - would attract the ships like flies. The _owner_ of such a canal would make a fortune. The man who recommended it heard from a reputable sailor that the natives are willing to trade. There is a sheltered bay, and fertile soil. They called it a paradise."

Voices babbled excitedly. Scotland could talk the talk, and this was maybe their only chance to break into the world of global trade.

* * *

"I'm not stopping you. I'm warning you. Look, they've made my Parliament see their side. All _my_ investors in your project have been forced to withdraw their financial support, sister."

"They're missing out. Don't _worry_, Arthur. There's already lots of my people investing - rich or poor."

"Spain… I'm at peace with Spain. I cannot and _shall not _bail you out if he comes wondering why you're taking his colony."

"Spain?"

"He's not a brainless idiot. He's a calculating and two-faced man. Trust me, I've fought him. But he'd be justified in this case. He'd have an excuse-"

"-Why are you warning me? I thought you hated my guts."

"Animosity does not become a gentleman. Don't snort in that manner. A personal union is still a union… so don't get yourself injured too badly. So… you're going in the second wave?"

"Aye, I didnae want tae go with the first lot - I mean, I had stuff tae do back here - but I want to see what they've done. It's not like we've heard anything back from them yet, so I want to see how they're getting on."

England had a very bad feeling about this.

* * *

The sea lapped at the side of the _Boudica_, splashing against the strong wood. Yells and curses echoed around the ship as her hulking figure moved gracefully through the waves. An English flag fluttered aimlessly in the strong wind, which also ruffled England's blond hair as he stared out to the open sea.

"Oi! Put your backs into it!" came a yell louder than the crew's curses. England looked out towards the horizon and narrowed his eyes.

"Land ahoy!" he heard the man in the rigging cry. The boat reached the shore, and England got off first. He heard a surprised voice. "_Inglaterra_? What are you doing here?"

"Picking up my sister. I'm allowed to do that, no?"

"…_Sí_… but go as soon as you do." Spain walked away. "And remind her never to try and steal part of one of my colonies ever again, will you?" He smiled at England. "'Kay?"

* * *

"You were right about everything." That phrase, that phrase that she would _never_ have said, informed England how terribly everything had gone.

"Antonio came, aye, but that wasn't it." Her voice was broken.

"It wasn't paradise, let's just say that. There was so much disease, it killed, God, I don't know how many… then when everything was nearly shattered to bits, he made sure nothing could ever rise from Darien's…" she faltered at the tiny colony's name. "Nothing could ever rise from Darien's ashes. Nothing I could do, anyway."

"Darien was his name?"

"He was going tae be… New Caledonia. But that's not going tae happen now, is it?" Scotland laughed hollowly.

"I'm sorry, I really am. W-wait! What the- sis- Sco- Cal-! What the hell…?" England flinched back as she crashed to the ground.

"Shit," the broken country whimpered. "Last chance… last chance… had to give it… all I… had…"

"Are you-" No England, she's not all right, she just fainted randomly, his mind told him sharply. You'd best get out of here before Spain starts prowling around again.

He did.

* * *

"All you had? What's all you had?" England said, refusing to stop until he'd got a straight answer. "Half…" Scotland said quietly looking down at the floor.

"Half? Half of what?" England interrupted, glaring at her. "Funds… the funds…" she moaned, snatching up her arm to her eyes to rub at them. "Half the…"

"You used half of the funds?"

"No. All… used all to try… and set it up… everybody was so generous… everyone wanted me to be… more powerful, like the brat to the South."

England ignored the jibe. "Then what's half?"

Scotland coughed quietly. Sneezed. How could she have caught a cold in… Caught a cold in Central America…?

"Half of what…?" asked England, not really wanting to hear the answer.

"Everything. The entire wealth of my population, government. Half my money. Half my entire fucking fortune," she snapped, coughing ruining the speech.

"Oh shit…" England cursed, horrified. "Half…! Oh my God, you fucking idiot!"

She laughed and closed her eyes again. "Shit is right."

* * *

"Lord Kirkland! Lord Kirkland he's- oh my God! Who's… that… oh my! It's the strange one! It's got to be! It's Lady Kirkland… what's wrong with you, Lizzie? Oh, you don't know…? Oh that's right, you're new aren't you? His sister, not his wife, idiot - why do you seem to think you've got a chance, scullery maid?"

"_Chwaer_… _chwaer_ is here?" The maids jumped about a metre in the air as a woman materialised beside them. "LADY KIRKLAND!" screamed the older maid.

The younger scullery maid looked more confused than before. "There's anotha one? I've never seen 'er 'round 'ere bef- oh! Miss - I mean ma'am - d-didn't see you there ma'am, I'm awfully sorry-"

But the servants couldn't make out the garbled language that was being said frantically. "Welsh," muttered the older maid matter-of-factly. "Blodwen talks like that whenever she gets the- terribly sorry ma'am!"

Wales swept across the floor, dress sweeping elegantly behind her. Hey, having time on your hands did wonders for your balance. "Is she all right?" Wales asked England, who could somehow see her. England looked grave and muttered an aside to her. The maids heard the Welshwoman gasp. "Shit."The maids looked at each other, eyebrows high and eyes wide. The Lady had _sworn_. This must be serious indeed. "You're serious? A union with her-"Collective gasp. "Oh dear. It seems I was wrong…" muttered the old maid. "It's his fiancée!"

"She's_ really _not," was the curt reply of the master of the house. "She's _really_, truly _not_."

The servants looked scared at being heard. "Sorry…"

* * *

Sunlight glinted through the window, but it didn't reach the massive bed on which Scotland lay motionlessly. She only turned her head to the door when it opened and England came through. He was pulling at his collar nervously.

"Caledonia… are you… feeling better?"

Scotland smiled wearily. "Quite better, actually," was the quiet reply. "Much more than I thought I'd be. I thought I'd… die."

There was silence in the room then. England looked out the window.

"You're not one to die easily, sister." Scotland said nothing, she merely looked at her brother, then looked back down, picking at the sheet with her fingers.

"You… saved me. Thanks." The thanks out of the way, Scotland felt much better. She'd never have to thank England again, now.

"You're my sister," England said plainly and honestly. "I couldn't let you fall into debt and die now, could I?" His eyes closed. "I just wish it could have been some other way, you know that. There's been riots on my side of the Border too."

"I do wish that," admitted Scotland. "But still. You saved my life. You paid off my entire debt…" Now she was actually… she actually felt grateful. It was a disturbing and scary emotion. And one that was fading quickly, thanks be. "Hey, England."

Hm? England looked at Scotland. "What is it."

"I'll never be a major power on my own. Never," said Scotland, glaring up at him. "That's how Spain defeated me, I'm small and I'm fucking weak like a small country with nothing going for it _is_. If allying with you can change that..." she trailed off. "It won't be good, but I'll help you. If that's what it takes for _my_ people to be taken seriously in this new world, then so fucking _be it_." She felt the anger of her people inside her screaming their lungs out at being told they were allying with the Auld Enemy. She shut them out. It was for their fucking good, goddamnit, the nobility said calmly in her head. Money, I need the money, I need the power. _I need power. _

"Um… there's a new flag that's been designed… that's why I came here, if you want to… um… see it."

"It's not just going to be your flag then? Like when you allied with Gwen?"

"It's Gwyyyyyynnnn," hissed Wales. "You're one of the only ones who notices me! Notice me!"

"I don't want to know what would happen if we tried that. Besides, that woman was officially part of the Kingdom of England. " England interrupted Wales' quiet growl: "_Cachau bant, pen pidyn! Cau dy ffwcin ceg, haliwr,_" and other phrases.

"Why the hell is your flag on top?"

"Don't say it like that."

"Why shouldn't it be?"

"Because it would be better with mine on top! You! Outside the door!" The maids squealed except the Welsh-speaking one, who was still frozen from the Welsh nation's outburst. "Get me paper. And red, white and blue pencils!"

"Yes ma'am," said the scared maids. "Do- do you think - they ah… our countries?" gasped a young maid as they scurried away.

"Florry, love," reprimanded the older maid. "We don't go talkin' about the master, you know that. Whatever strange ideas they may 'ave, it's not our place to talk about it."

"Right," said the maid.

"I've heard everything now," the Welsh maid said in an appalled tone of voice.

* * *

Omake

"I'm done," sang Scotland.

"Let's see," said England as he picked up the paper. Wales glanced over his shoulder to look at the Scottish version of the Union Flag.

"Let's just keep it the way it is, shall we?"

* * *

**There was actually two different versions of the Union flag, one with St. George's Cross on top and one with it underneath. There's a link if you want to see it, just remove the spaces:**

**http:/ /en. wikipedia . org/ wiki / File: Beaumont Scottish Union Flag. png**


	23. Evading Rationing With Some Help 1947

Seventh of December 1922

"I don't want to be part of the Free State. I want to be part of the UK."

The small voice of the child rang through the room. One day? That's all he took to decide on it? Ireland looked down at the floor. One day?

"Very well. From now on you shall be Northern Ireland, separate from the Free State of Ireland. And we're the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland," said Scotland. Yes, that was a way of putting it. For once, they'd decided to share the speaking power a bit more.

"Can I leave now?" asked Ireland brusquely.

"Yes, sure," said Scotland.

* * *

1947

Ah, the world was right, the war was over. Ireland smiled. The world was at peace.

Then all of a sudden there was a knocking at the door. Ireland frowned and put down his newspaper. He stood up and walked to the source of the noise. "Who's there?" he called.

"Um… Norn Irn." Is what Ireland heard at first from behind the door.

"…Norn Irn?" he repeated. Maybe he'd just heard a name wrong.

"What did you just say! Stop mocking my accent!" The angry yell sounded familiar… oh, it was him. Ireland opened the door to reveal the red-headed boy glaring at him. The glare quickly turned to shock and then an awkward smile.

"…Norn Irn… oh, right. Um, _dia duit_."

"Dee a gwit? Oh, right, um, hello to you too…" There was a real sense of awkwardness in the air, like none which Ireland had experienced this end of the war.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure, North?"

Northern Ireland seemed slightly surprised that he'd not been coldly referred to as "oh, hey six counties that decided I wasn't good enough". Or "hey, other part of Ulster". Admittedly they'd overcome this step when Ireland helped him during the bombings of his capital during the blitz, but it had been several years since they'd actually talked to one another.

"I… just realised that I never thanked you properly for what you did for me during the war. So, eh, thank you, Ireland. I… really appreciate it." There was a faint growling sound. Ireland was suspicious, but ignored it.

"_Ná habair é_. Don't mention it, anybody would do the same."

"…Nobody else _did_ do it. For me, I mean," said Northern Ireland sheepishly. He actually looked pretty cute when he was embarrassed. He wouldn't be so bad to have as a little brother if the Irelands actually talked to each other.

"And it wouldn't have felt right _not_ to say thanks and… yeah," said Northern Ireland. "I was going to bring something but I didn't have enough coupons and the black market won't do trade with me since they saw that I'm something to do with the government and-" he blushed darkly as his stomach growled again. "Sorry…"

"Eh, you're hungry?"

"N-no! I'm fine-" Another growl. A sceptical look was aimed at Northern Ireland. The North cringed. "A tiny little bit."

* * *

Northern Ireland had never actually seen Ireland's house - the actual building, not the land. He was quite surprised to have been dragged from the front door to the kitchen. He sat at the table as directed. He stole a few shy glances around him. It wasn't fancy like the UK house dining room and it was different from his own house's eating space, but it was… nice.

"Um… you don't have to…"

Ireland cast a glance over his shoulder. "I was making dinner for myself anyway," he said curtly.

"Then… can I help?" asked the North.

"Just stay there. You look like death warmed up. How've you been living over there?"

North looked away. "The rationing's been pretty grim, but I can live by it without frills."

"Rationing?" Ireland looked around. "You've still got rationing over there? The war's over."

"There's no sign of it stopping."

* * *

"Christ almighty, you look like you've not seen a decent meal for years," was the comment Ireland made as he looked at the North wolf down the food Ireland had made.

"Heh, well…" said the North, rubbing the back of his head. "You're a really good cook, it tastes brilliant."

Ireland looked bemused. "You think so?" It's not _that_ good, thought Ireland to himself.

"Much better than Scotland and England!" said Northern Ireland truthfully. "Though, I guess that's not much to say. I mean, the other one… Wales makes good leek soup but she hardly ever cooks dinner."

Ireland looked away under pretence of looking cool and composed. Underneath his hair though - take that siblings dearest! See? Even he agrees that my cooking's the best! His grin was wide. He looked back up with a small smile.

"Heh, _go raibh maith agat_. Thanks. Actually, I'm the one who taught her to make that. She just says she perfected it, whatever that's supposed to mean."

"I didn't know that. And you're welcome. And, thanks a lot for the meal, it was really nice of you."

"I told you, _ná habair é_. It's nothing. I always make sure anyone coming here nowadays is well-fed and isn't hungry when they leave. _Nobody is hungry when they leave me __now_. _Never again_. Ahem," coughed Ireland.

"What is it anyway?"

"It's called Dublin coddle."

* * *

"I'd better be going home now before the border shuts," the North said, suddenly reminded of the time. "What time is it now anyway…?" he looked suddenly at his watch, then made a sort of sound like a strangled cat. "Oh shit…" he looked up, panicking. "It's closing in a quarter of an hour! I'll never make it in time!"

Ireland looked at the clock. "You can stay here for the night and go back over in the morning. There's no point in rushing to it when it's closed."

"Really?" He looked surprised.

"What, you think I'd let you run around like a headless chicken all over the island looking for a place to spend the night while I've got a perfectly good house here?" What kind of person have they been telling you I am?

* * *

"You - you made breakfast for me?"

"Yes," was the answer. "You're a guest here. Stop acting like I shouldn't be doing this."

The full breakfast looked delicious. "Thanks."

"Here's your tea. Milk?"

"Yes please. W-wait, what's this?" Northern Ireland hesitantly took the items handed over to him. Butter, tea, sugar. Cheese, bacon, jam. "Wait… all the stuff I got during the war… you brought it over?" Back when Ireland had come over to help him rebuild after the bombings… that's where the extra had come from!

Ireland looked embarrassed. "Well, yeah. Didn't realise things were still rationed over in Norn Irn. Be careful at the border. Act like you've got nothing to hide. That's how I got over."

"Hey, stop it. My accent's not funny." But the North was smiling.

* * *

Omake - Return of The Snow of Death or Scotland's Attitude Changes To Winter

Winter 2007

"Heh, I can deal with the cold. I'm the coldest of all you lot. You fail, you can't deal with a little gale. Heh heh heh."

Winter 2008

"Brilliant! There's snow this year! And here I was thinking I'd go without snow again! I'll just follow it up north and go sledging and skiing! You're totally jealous, no? Aw, it went away."

Winter 2009

"Whoa, I was not expecting that amount of snow. But it's pretty from here. I'll just go outside for a bit…Wait what do you mean there's more snow coming? What do you mean the grit's run out! Oh crap my roads! I can't move! I'm dying, oh my god I'm gonna die!"

Winter 2010

"Well, this year it won't take me by surprise, no way. The snow's worse this year? What do you mean the snow's worse this year? No it's not worse! …Wait, yeah, it is, but hey, I can deal with this - holy shit I was nearly speared by an icicle! I hate the snow *slips* aaahhh I want summer back!

"I'M NOT GOING OUTSIDE YOU CAN'T MAKE ME! Come on Spring…"

* * *

Canada: I deal with this twice as much every year and I still get around. You can't just hide from it.

Scotland: Yes I can. *throws salt feebly over the snow* Meeeeellllt for meeee...

Canada: ...


	24. Popular With Colonies, 1800s

Little feet scampering about. Only a few at a time, but they were brought, a few at a time. It would be bad for them to be here for long but there were so many British colonies. England kept going out and fighting off the other Europeans to get land here, land there, land so far away that it took months and months to travel to.

_What have you got yourself into_, thought one man sitting alone on a bed. _What's happened to the world? _It used to be Rome, now his territories have empires themselves. _Rome never reached me. Maybe I'd have an empire if he had. _

The man looked disparagingly around the room. At least they'd tried to make it appeal to him - it was nice, admittedly. Someone had brought his _cláirseach_, his harp for him. Well that was nice, even if it was a bit battered-looking. Probably it was her, the one who was always trying to out-play him on her own harp. Who was she again… oh, right, his littlest sister.

_Hm? _There was a cloth on the table… oh…

He picked up the cloth. The stark contrast between the scarlet saltire and the white background. It was obviously a flag.

_My flag. _It was strange thinking of this design as his. Especially as it was picked so that his flag would fit nicely into _that _flag.

He looked up to the flag on the wall. So eye-catching to anyone who entered the room - or dragged bodily into the room like he had been.

A saltire, a X, blue and white as a foundation. A cross, red and white boldly in front. Another saltire added, red and white. He had to commend the designer, the flag was certainly unique. And it did look nicer than just adding a _cláirseach _into the centre like it had used to be.

"St. George's Cross… St. Andrew's Cross… and now my own. My, I'm flattered. Oh well, at least I didn't have to share one like Arthur and Gwynn. Well, Gwynn technically had Arthur's at least."

The man dragged his eyes away from the symbolic flag and gently held up the new St. Patrick's Cross design. "I wonder if they'll ask if I like it, Aisling…?" he wondered aloud to his _absent_ fairy companion. "And I wonder if I truly do or don't." He smiled. "And you're not here, Aisling, am I going crazy?"

Ireland lay down on the bed. "What's happened to the world. Am I getting old, is this when everything seems to change too fast?"

He blew out. Eh, this wouldn't be that bad. It wasn't as though they hated him. Well, they didn't really think of him that much did they…

* * *

A little child was rushing through the old mansion-like building, twisting back to glance behind every ten or so seconds.

"Get back here!" somebody yelled, furious.

It wasn't even his master-empire, it was… um… a colony. He didn't know which one, just that it was one of the British colonies. Probably. He hadn't ever seen him before. Maybe he would ask when he stopped being mad.

"WHEN I FIND OUT WHO YOU ARE, YOU'LL- AAAHHH!" The other colony cowered back as the bugs scuttled here and there. "It stung me! I'm going to die! Why didn't he just leave me be?"

Feeling a bit guilty, but more scared of the vengeance that would crash on him if he faltered, the little colony dashed into a room.

"Phew…" he breathed out. He slowly opened his eyes when his heartbeat was normal again. "Scary…" He glanced around the room. Hm, that was weird. It was fancier than the colony rooms. Everything was better quality - and that was saying something, you know? England was fussy about furniture and stuff in his house!. He wondered whose room it could be.

"Oh, a colony," said a somewhat unsurprised voice.

"Gyahh!" screamed the colony. "Who are you?"

"I think you'll find that as the one who barged into my room, you're the one who should be introducing yourself."

Huh? He spoke English really fluently, like he'd been speaking it for centuries all the time! He must be close to England then. And he was older, so he mustn't be a colony - from what he'd gathered, all the colonies were young. This guy was older than England, now that you caught a glimpse at his face.

"Well? You're a colony? Which one are you?" asked the fluent-English speaking non-colony.

"Um, I'm… well, I'm not really all that sure," admitted the confused boy.

"Really?" said the nation. "Why?"

"Well you see, I'm more of a collection of colonies, mate."

There was a raised eyebrow. It was quite large. Was he… was he English? Wow, his hair was a really pretty colour. "Wow, your hair's a really pretty colour!"

"…Thank you?"

"I've never seen anyone with hair like that before! I mean, a non-human," edited the boy. "Some of the convicts had it like that though."

"My sister's got hair a shade darker, you've not seen her then? Strange…"

"Your sister? She's one of us?"

"Yes she is," said the man.

"Older or younger?" the boy blurted out.

"Hm. Depends on your point of view, really," said the man vaguely.

"I see," said the boy, not seeing at all. "Anyway, so who are you, mate?"

"Padraig O'Kirkland," said the man before shaking his head suddenly. "Eh, make that Patrick Kirkland now, I guess." He looked at the boy who was still looking for an answer. "Oh, _right_. Ireland, I'm Ireland."

"Pleased to meet you," said the boy happily.

"Convicts, you said? And a mixture of colonies… you're the penal colonies, aren't you? The ones on the other side of the world," was the man's guess.

"Yeah, that's me, mate," said the Australian penal colonies, or as he was just called, Australia. "You're really smart!"

Ireland flinched back in pleasant shock. "I'm smart? I'm not used to hearing that from anyone." He smiled. "Thanks."

"Huh? No problem, I guess. So, how are you living here? _Are _you a colony?"

"…No…" said Ireland slowly. "Britain are my brothers and sisters."

"Really? So… there's England and that woman with the hair your colour-"

"Scotland."

"Yeah, her. Isn't there anyone else?"

Ireland thought about it. "Yes, there is. Not entirely sure where she is at the moment, but…" he looked down at the floor. "She's probably the nicest to me of the lot of them…"

"Why?" Ireland jumped, having forgotten about the boy.

"I just mean, she… ah… she brought my _cláirseach_ over here for me. I've never known for sure, but it could only have been her."

Australia looked surprised. "And how d'you know it was her? What's a _cláirseach_?"

"Well… heh," Ireland laughed suddenly. "It all goes back to when we were small. I'll tell you about it one day."

"Why not now?"

"There's a very angry young lady outside the door."

"Oh bloody hell!"

"You bastard!" was the only warning from the 'young lady' Australia got before a fist connected with his face.

"Aaahh!" Australia said, clutching at his jaw. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

"Look at what your little pets did to me and Barbie!" Montserrat yelled, her arms swollen - though it hadn't dulled the strength of her punch. Barbados, who followed Montserrat in, looked furious at the nickname.

"I told you never to call me that!" He patted Australia on the shoulder. "She's not usually this pissy, but she wants to rebel against England but can't. Although… your pets hurt us a lot." He took on a more threatening stance. "So revenge will be ours." Australia cowered away as the colonies rounded on him. Ireland was about to intervene, when something happened.

"Leave him alone, _kai a te ahi_!" Small fists connected with the two heads. Barbados and Montserrat fell to the ground. A small person stood tall. The Caribbean colonies groaned. Australia - still on the ground, nursing his chin - looked up at his saviour.

The androgynous young colony - which, Ireland didn't know, he'd said there were too many - had light brown hair which formed strange curls unlike anything Ireland had seen before. It looked kind of like flattened sheep horns. The curse of the British Empire stood out proudly above gleaming satisfied brown eyes.

"…You might want to get those looked at," said Ireland, stepping into the conversation, worried for the Caribbean colonies. "They look really bad."

"Ireland?" Ireland blinked. He wasn't used to being called by name, much less by those he didn't know.

"Yes?"

"Oh my God! It is you!" cried Montserrat, ignoring her previous enemies. Her eyes lit up and a happy grin crossed her face. "You remember me right? You rescued me from Spain!"

Oh, right, that was who she was… Ireland did remember the occasion. "Rescued is a bit of a overstatement… I mean, Arthur just took control soon enough…"

"Big brother Ireland~" Montserrat cooed, leaping up to hug him. "I've been looking for you all over the house since you came." Ireland smiled at the suddenly bubbly girl. "Girls are strange," muttered Barbados. He glanced over at Australia and the unnamed colony. He was about to ask who the unnamed, indeterminate gendered colony was, when all of a sudden Australia leaped up to hug it.

"You're bloody beaut', you are, mate! Marry me!"

The colony with no name shoved Australia off. "What the hell?" it cried. "Get away from me! I help you and you attack me! Stupid Australian."

"You're cute, mate!" said Australia optimistically.

"Get the hell off me! Bloody idiot!" It suddenly stopped. "Wait. You don't know who I am, do you?"

"We've not me-"

A punch of doom to the head showed Australia that that wasn't perhaps the best answer he could have given. "Bastard!"

The colony stalked off, but not before Australia noticed a certain glimmer to the eyes of the other colony. Monteserrat glared at him, as did Barbados. "Apologise to her."

"Her? Um… sure," said Australia. He grinned at Ireland. "I'll see you soon mate!"

Ireland smiled back. "Looking forward to it. Just don't let your pets loose again."

* * *

Omake

Ireland held a pillow over his ears. The colonies hadn't paid him any attention when he'd politely asked them to go away.

"Yeah, no way that was a guy."

"No, I'm pretty sure it was a boy."

"Well you're stupid."

"You're stupider."

"Well, you're the stupidest. You can't get stupider than the stupidest - so _hah_!"

"You're the exception!"

"You little-"

"All right! That's enough! Break it up!" Ireland snapped. "Outside! And don't come back 'til you've found out who that person was!"

"Got it, Mr Ireland!"

"FIRST DO SOMETHING ABOUT YOUR STINGS!" yelled Ireland as he saw the arms. They looked really terrible.

* * *

_And thus Australia apologised to the young colony who turned out to be a _boy _named New Zealand. The gender never stopped Australia from his plans of marriage to the once-mysterious figure. AND IT NEVER SHALL_. _Hey Brett! You're reading this right? So how about it~?_

"For the hundred-thousandth time! No!"_  
_


End file.
